Children of Time, Season 2, Episode 1: The Blanched Cadaver
by Wholmes Productions
Summary: New Year's Eve, 1895. A night out with the Yarders seems to herald a prosperous year for the Baker Street gang... but with a new enemy in town who seems strangely familiar, Beth and Sally will find out once again how little resemblance Watson's stories can bear to reality.
1. Two Girls Walk Into A Pub

**Authors' Note:** Welcome to Season Two, everyone - we're so thrilled to finally be here, and that you wonderful readers have stuck with us all the way! Those who haven't, we strongly advise you to go back to Season One and catch up, or there'll be a lot of points in this season that simply won't make sense.

As with earlier episodes, some scenes will be rather graphic, but skipping over them hopefully won't affect your understanding of the plot, and we'll be rating them appropriately: V=Violence/blood, D=Drugs, S=Sexual themes, L=Language.

Enjoy, and please review!

**==Chapter 1==**

**Two Girls Walk Into a Pub**

_"For last year's words belong to last year's language  
And next year's words await another voice.  
And to make an end is to make a beginning."_

—T.S. Eliot

New Year's Eve, 1895: the last day of a year that had lasted longer than any other year in history, and only a handful of people knew that. Four of whom were in 221B, preparing for their night out with the men of Scotland Yard.

Beth Holmes slipped into her dress for the night, midnight blue, and paused, unable to do up the buttons in the back. "What I wouldn't give for zippers," she muttered. "Sherlock, would you do these buttons, please?"

"Of course." Holmes left off fastening his cuff links and obliged. Beth looked so lovely in that gown, he simply couldn't resist kissing the nape of her neck as he finished.

She started and whirled on him. "Don't do that!" It wasn't fair—he knew she was sensitive to things like that. "Sherlock, save it for later, not when we're getting ready!" There'd be time enough for… kissing… after the party.

He gave her an unrepentant grin. "Yes, dear."

She sighed, though secretly delighted. "Incorrigible." Turning away to face the mirror, she set to work on her hair. "Actually... I had a question—well, not quite so much a question, but... I mean, I'm about to meet a lot of men that I grew up knowing about from the stories, and some even in a little more detail because I once read some of one of Geoffrey's journals. And I guess I'd like to know a little more about them before tonight." She twisted around again to give him a hopeful look.

He nodded, trying to ignore the sudden odd sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Any in particular? Lestrade you already know pretty well, I should think."

"Yeees. Although it's going to be weird, acting like I know less about him than I do. I don't know—I could probably name a good dozen DIs off the top of my head, but…" As she brushed her hair, she tried to untangle her thoughts. This night was important to her—she was about to interact with an important part of her family's history. More quietly, she continued: "I guess… one thing I'd like to know is... is how relations are between you and the Yarders? Going off of the stories and that journal I read, I'd say that, pre-1891, things were complicated at best." She began to blush—she hadn't made a conversation awkward like this in a while. But she didn't know exactly how Sherlock felt about things and she needed to know. "From 1894 on, though, well, lots of people think that relations were improving?" She sighed at herself. "I don't know…"

Holmes grimaced – Watson's poetic license rearing its head again! He returned to attaching the last cuff link, answering half absently, "Relations _might_, if the Yard would take their heads out of their – " then stopped abruptly, realising what he was about to say; "er, filing cabinets a bit more often." Grinning sheepishly at her raised eyebrows, "I know, it's not entirely their fault." The County and Borough Police Act of 1856 had a lot to answer for, in his opinion. "But when you're on a case where every minute counts, and your _professional_ colleagues won't take a step without a piece of paper that says they can..." He shook his head, a frustrated sigh escaping.

Beth thought of 'The Greek Interpreter', and Gregson's unwillingness to conduct a raid without a warrant. The wait had cost an innocent man's life, but, on the other hand, Gregson, Geoffrey, and any of their colleagues could land themselves and their cases in hot, hot water if they didn't follow the procedures set in place by a gaggle of men who _weren't_ detectives.

"Sherlock, I can't even imagine me or you trying to fight the multiple uphill battles they have to contend with daily." Caught between their duty and what was expected of them. "And I know that, intellectually, you're aware of most of them. In time, there's going to be better rules, a better set-up, better _education_, and better pay—but right now, police as we know them haven't even been around for three-quarters of a century, yet, and _you_, like it or not, happen to be one of the catalysts for change. But that change takes _so much time_ because the foundations are so severely… _effed-up_. The job is difficult, it's thankless, it alienates them from the rest of mankind, and…" She sighed and started arranging her hair again, trying to twist it up right. "Remember when we were first on the Bruce-Partington case together? I said that you could be a little nicer to Geoffrey? All I'm saying is that… I get why you get frustrated with the Met, I do." The real source of his frustration was the system and the men who had put it in place, not the actual detectives. "But you need to not take it out on the wrong people."

The detective nodded grudgingly, nettled; he could have done without a lecture on what was supposed to be an enjoyable evening out for the four of them! Even if Beth was _half_ on his side... _Good **grief** – don't tell me you're jealous of the Yard now, too? One of them's her great-grandfather, for heaven's sake, of course she's sympathetic!_ But no matter what arguments the voice in Holmes's head presented, they didn't help to make the knot in his gut disappear.

* * *

Detective Inspector Geoffrey Lestrade drummed his fingers and checked his watch again, wondering where the surprise guests might be. At least their appearance should shut Gregson up for a whole minute and then leave him scrambling to finish his sentences for the next hour! The man was being his usual insufferable self tonight, and Lestrade could only stand so much.

Bradstreet ambled over, tankard in hand. "What's the matter with you tonight, Geoff? It's New Year's Eve; drink up!"

He handed the tankard to Lestrade, and Lestrade saluted him with it. "Just the one for the moment." He took a pull, determined to stay sober until the Baker Street party arrived.

"Shorty, what _are_ you waiting for?" Gregson passed by. "You keep checking your watch."

The pub's door opened, saving Lestrade from having to reply as in walked the Holmeses and the Watsons. The ladies, however, walked together behind their husbands—their identities were not immediately obvious.

_I wonder if someone planned it that way?_ Lestrade set down his tankard so quickly that the beer sloshed over the rim, but he didn't care. He rose and came forward, beaming, glad to see them and looking forward to the next sixty seconds or so. He kept his tone casual, however, as he greeted the group, shaking hands with each in turn: "Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson…" He paused just a moment longer for the benefit of the other policemen. "Mrs. Holmes, Mrs. Watson. So glad you could join us."

Silence spread through the room like ripples in water, everyone else stopping what they were doing and staring at the women. Gregson gaped openly at Lestrade.

Beth couldn't help grinning, her annoyance at Sherlock's mood on the way over evaporating. She'd _never_ had the chance to cause such a stir, and now that she did, she was going to cherish it. "It's our pleasure, Inspector, thank you."

"Absolutely," Sally nodded, who was also immensely enjoying the sensation they were making. "Thank you so much for inviting us!"

"It's good to be here again, Lestrade," Watson said sincerely, then turned to the rest of the room. "Merry Christmas, gentlemen!"

There were faint murmurs of "Merry Christmas" in return, and Bradstreet was the first to recover, stepping forward and grinning from ear to ear. "Merry Christmas, Doctor, Mr. Holmes, ladies." He shook each hand in turn. "Inspector Roger Bradstreet, at your service."

Holmes realised guiltily he'd been faintly scowling since Lestrade had greeted his wife, and hastily pasted on a smile as he shook hands. _You agreed to this, remember? Now grow up, and stop looking like a thundercloud every time Beth meets someone new!_

Beth smiled at Bradstreet, searching for and not really seeing a resemblance to the Inspector Bradstreet _she_ knew in her time. "Nice to meet you, Inspector."

Holmes took Beth's elbow and escorted her to the fire, where Hopkins was next to greet them. "Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, Mr. Holmes, Mrs. Holmes. Inspector Stanley Hopkins, ma'am. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"The pleasure's all mine, Inspector." Beth knew Hopkins had to be at least a few years older than she was, but his baby face made him look practically her age.

"Might I get either of you something to drink?"

Beth looked to Sherlock, letting him take the reins.

Holmes hesitated, remembering the end results of the last few times he and Beth had been in a pub... but also not wanting to seem a complete prude. "Mulled wine for both of us, thank you."

"Of course!" Beth had to stifle a grin at how eager Hopkins was to please. "Coming right up."

As he walked away, Beth let out her grin and murmured, "Well, I think that was an appropriately dramatic entrance."

"Mm..." Then Holmes's lips twitched as he caught sight of Gregson's lingering expression. "Lestrade's certainly not going to let Gregson forget it in a hurry."

Beth twisted around to follow Sherlock's line of vision and caught sight of a tall, broadly-built blond man looking slack-jawed. "Ohhh." She gave an evil little chuckle, pleased for Geoffrey's sake. "Ah yes, good."

* * *

The evening hummed happily by, with a parade of astonished policemen whom even Beth knew she'd only half-remember and a pile of food and plenty of drinks, including honest-to-goodness wassail punch.

Eventually, things settled down into a sort of story-sharing time. Bradstreet was the first, goodnaturedly ignoring all calls to tell the story of his wedding dinner, and then he pulled Geoffrey up to the center of things to tell a story. Geoffrey resigned himself to his fate with many longsuffering glances heavenward and gave only the bare bones of the case Bradstreet made him recount (Bradstreet helpfully elaborated every ten or so words). Not to be outdone by the two-man act, Gregson followed, a better storyteller than Geoffrey had been (or wanted to be, maybe), but ultimately trying too hard to be clever, not as good an instinctive grasp on humor as Bradstreet's. Inspector Patterson successfully resisted all attempts to make him the next storyteller by leaning back in his chair, puffing on his cigarette, and closing his eyes. Beth couldn't help but be impressed at how he stayed as still as a statue but for his smoking.

John was called upon next, and he too resisted, shamelessly snuggling closer to Sally, and the good men of the London Metropolitan Police couldn't argue with such a tactic.

It was up to Inspector MacDonald, then, to fill the void, and he rose to the occasion by telling a tale of a wild chase through Aberdeen in his early days as a policeman, before his transfer down to London. He spoke with much gusto, gesticulating, and guffawing, and Beth found herself laughing hard. MacDonald's story and his style of storytelling were really that funny… but also… she was feeling oddly warm… and mellow… and she couldn't seem to get a handle on her laughter… _No, I can't possibly have had that much to drink already, can I? I've been careful!_

Sally was laughing as much at Beth as at the story, when it dawned on her that Beth was rather flushed... and starting to look anxious. Maybe it was time to get her friend some fresh air... but it wasn't until Sally got up that she suddenly realised _she_ might need to be cut off as well. _Hoo boy._ She inched her way over to Beth and whispered in her ear, "Hey, I gotta head out back, come with me?"

Beth gave Sally a grateful look and a nod, rising slowly and carefully, only for a wave of unbalance to wash over her. _Zed, zed, zed, zed, zed…_

Sally put a steadying hand on Beth's upper arm, the movement catching Sherlock's attention. She answered his questioning frown with what she hoped was a reassuring smile: "Call of nature, back in a few!" then did her best to unobtrusively steer Beth and herself towards the door to the tavern yard.

Starting to pale now, Beth stumbled a little and leaned more heavily on Sally. "I think… I think I'm a little buzzed," she whispered, heart starting to race. More than a little, actually, and she didn't like the feeling at all. "Sally, I didn't mean to do that!"

Sally giggled, fairly sure Sherlock couldn't hear them over Inspector MacDonald. "It's okay, honey, you're not the only one. That wassail really packs a punch!"

"Yeah…" Slowly and carefully, the two of them managed to make it to the door without any more stumbling, and Beth pushed it open. She inhaled deeply of the frigid night air, traces of the unsavory odors of London's mews but also refreshingly the opposite of the warm, smoky, drowsy haze inside. She breathed out, and her breath curled visibly before her and she had to resist the temptation to do it on purpose like a little kid. "I didn't know I needed this."

"Yeah, it doesn't help when the room's so hot!" Sally leaned against the doorpost and fanned herself with her hand; she now understood completely why ladies in this period carried those things around! "How much _did_ you have?"

Beth started to shake her head and winced, thinking better of it. "I'm not sure now, but I _thought_ it wasn't that much!" She pursed her lips. "Maybe I'm out of practice…" She _had_ had fewer drinks living in 221B than she had during Frozen Time, but the latter had often been out of necessity, as water had seldom been clean.

Sally looked at her in sympathy, then over at the outhouse in distaste – she was still getting accustomed to Victorian era facilities. "Well, since we're out here..." she sighed, and started picking her way across the icy cobbles, barely covered by the scattered straw.

Beth sighed. "Yeah, I guess so. Don't worry," she added cheerily, "it won't kill you!—probably." If she was being honest, she absolutely understood and still agreed with Sally's sentiments… but she had also had the experience of being on the move in Frozen Time, which lent her a slightly more pragmatic perspective. You just had to _not_ think about what you were doing very, very hard.

Sally unthinkingly made an impolite gesture she'd learned from the Irregulars. "Aah!" The movement shifted her balance and made her foot slide right out from under her, ending up sitting on the ground with her skirts up round her knees. _Oww!_ She looked back over her shoulder with a pained grin. "You were saying?"

Beth couldn't help giggling. "Are you okay?" She held out her hand.

"...I think so?" Wincing, Sally took the offered hand, climbing to her knees slowly and gingerly. "Ooh..." Her own giggles had restarted despite her aching rear, tickled by the sheer ridiculousness of it all. "Guess I should've had a few more mince pies!"

"You and me both!" Beth sobered as common sense intruded upon her amusement. "You think we should call it a night?"

Sally nodded regretfully, finally getting to her feet. "Yeah." They headed back inside, Sally now leaning on Beth.

Watson had decided to check on the girls, and met them at the back door. His eyebrows shot up at their state: both looking flushed and Sally looking dishevelled, leaning on Beth. What on earth…?

Beth blushed a little under the scrutiny. "Think we need to call it a night."

Watson tsked affectionately, shaking his head. "Can't take you two anywhere, can we?"

Beth held up her free hand. "Hey, we blame the wassail."

Sally gratefully took her husband's offered arm. "I'm sure there was more than just beer in that..."

"Indeed." Holmes came up with the girls' coats over his arm, lips tightening as he took in the spectacle. "Inspector Youghal's 'special' cider, for one."

Beth giggled—funny how 'special' was always code for high in alcohol content. "It's always special, isn't it?"

Her giggles set Sally off again, who tried vainly to stifle hers with her sleeve, while their husbands exchanged speaking glances.

"Watson," Holmes said, choosing his words with care, "would you kindly make our excuses to Lestrade, while I hail us a cab?"

Beth's heart sank: right back to square one with Sherlock's mood—no, worse now. Definitely worse. _Good job_.

Watson nodded to Holmes, catching Beth's crestfallen expression as he returned Sally to Beth, but unable to do more than give the younger girl a flash of a reassuring smile before he turned and left them. He wended his way through the policemen to where he'd last seen Lestrade, sitting with Bradstreet a little ways back from MacDonald. He bent over and murmured, "Lestrade?"

Lestrade looked up. "Ah, Doctor—we were just wondering where you'd got to! All enjoying yourselves?"

Watson smiled ruefully. "Yes, but I'm afraid it's time for us to go. Mrs. Watson and I do have a little one to get home to."

Bradstreet, who'd been eavesdropping, nodded sagely, having several children himself.

"Of course," said Lestrade, understanding completely. He rose, a trifle unsteady, and decided to remain where he was as he shook the doctor's hand—Watson could pass on the well wishes to the rest of his party. "All our love to Mrs. Hudson and the wee one! We'll look forward to seeing the New Year in with you again properly someday."

"And we'd be glad to do it again, thank you." He was certain the girls were disappointed at having to leave this early yet in the night. "Happy New Year to you both."

Bradstreet smiled and nodded. "Happy New Year, Doctor."

Meanwhile, Holmes had been scanning the street for a four-wheeler, finally managing to flag one down. Another bundled figure was hurrying up the pavement, reaching the tavern door as Holmes returned to it. "Ah, good evening, Havisham."

"Oh, Mr. Holmes!" Constable Havisham appeared strangely rattled, which only seemed to deepen on seeing the detective. "I-is Inspector Lestrade still here?"

"He is," Holmes answered dryly, "and likely to be for quite some while." He let Havisham enter first, and found the other three ready and waiting just inside.

Watson was taking Sally back again from Beth. "Any luck?"

"Four-wheeler's waiting." Holmes glanced curiously across the room to where Havisham was pushing towards Lestrade through the crush... but he couldn't leave the others now, and it was probably just another drunken brawl in the cells, or some such thing. Havisham always was the nervous type, too nervous even for front desk duty, really.

The detective offered his arm to an increasingly sleepy-looking Beth and followed the Watsons out, nodding at a few scattered and bleary calls of "Night, Doctor! Night, Mr. Holmes! Mind how you go! Happy New Year!" from behind him. "Happy New Year, gentlemen."

Beth looked over her shoulder and gave a little wave with her free hand, wishing she could have at least said goodbye to Geoffrey... _Probably for the best. The _last_ thing I need is to embarrass myself in front of my six-or-something-times-great-grandfather._ "'M sorry," she murmured to Sherlock. "I was trying to be careful..."

Looking down at his wife's flushed face and heavy eyes, Holmes caught himself wondering how _he_ must have looked at the Garrick Arms, or the cabin at Champex-Lac... and both times he was _trying_ to get drunk! He squeezed Beth's arm gently, murmuring back, "I know..." He really should have warned both girls about the punch, probably would have if he hadn't been so busy sulking.

Grateful for the gesture, she leaned further on his shoulder in turn. "I'm glad we came."

He couldn't help smiling at her snuggling. "Me too." And found in surprise that he actually meant it – then again, he wouldn't have wanted Beth to have a horrible time! "Let's get you home." As far as holiday celebrations went, perhaps it hadn't been all that bad.

* * *

**Ria:** Hope you guys like this one, it's taken us over _three years_ to finish from inception! Then again, I did have to take an 18 month hiatus because of university. Let's hope Doctor Reality doesn't interfere with the remaining episodes that badly...


	2. Let's Start The New Year Right

**==Chapter 2==**

**Let's Start the New Year Right**

_"We will open the book. Its pages are blank. We are going to put words on them ourselves. The book is called Opportunity and its first chapter is New Year's Day."_  
― Edith Lovejoy Pierce

The next morning, Beth woke to an empty bed and a throbbing head. She closed her eyes again, wishing she could will the headache away. When she heard Sherlock come in, she opened one eye to find him bathed, shaved, and dressed, looking disgustingly put-together after a late night of partying. She groaned and threw the covers back over her head. She wasn't hungover, _per se_—she had been _once_ and vowed never again—but there was a persistent dull throb in the right side of her skull. Not overwhelmingly painful, but irritating enough that she could cheerfully claw that part of her head right out with her own bare hands.

Holmes sat on the bed, gently laying a hand on the blanket-covered lump where he guessed Beth's shoulder was. "Can you sit up, love? Mrs. Hudson made you some valerian tea, it should help."

"Don' wanna sit up," she pouted from beneath the covers.

_Goodness me, who could have guessed Beth would be as bad a patient as you?_ "Well, as remarkable as this concoction is, I rather doubt it would have the same effect if drunk through a counterpane."

She gave a long, theatrical sigh and threw the covers back, pushing herself up and wincing as her head protested. "Ow." She pressed the offending side of her head into her hand and muttered, "Whoever's responsible for this technically _mild_ headache ought to be dragged out into the streets and stoned."

Holmes handed her the teacup, smiling mysteriously. "Well, you could inform the culprits yourself, if you wished..." He produced a handwritten note from his pocket. "This came from the Yard half an hour ago. Lestrade wants us to... I mean, he's asked Watson and I to visit the morgue – but you could come too, if you felt up to it." He could deal with any protests from his colleagues if it came to that.

Her insides were warmed not only by the tea, however awful it tasted, but also by the excited gleam in his eyes. She'd missed that look… although… the morgue… "Ah." Going to the morgue would certainly be a good thing for her potentially detective-ish future, but… "Maybe… you two could go on without me? I mean, this headache's not horrible, but I also don't want it to get worse." She paused and colored slightly, embarrassed to be chickening out on this in front of her detective husband, and after everything they'd been through, too!

Concealing his disappointment, Holmes nodded. There was a good chance that whatever awaited them in the morgue would be gruesome, and the last thing Beth needed was to lose her breakfast. He leaned in and kissed her. "You'll be all right here?"

Smiling, she nodded gingerly. "Yeah. I'll just chill here with Sally. You go spend some time with John."

The detective's smile widened – he _had_ missed being able to do that on a case, the Bruce-Partington affair had concluded over a month ago! Having a new mystery on the very first day of the new year did seem a splendid omen. "All right, we'll see you later." He kissed her again. "I love you."

She kissed him back, beaming. "I love you, too. Go solve a case."

"Yes, dear," he grinned, and left.

* * *

"Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson." Lestrade met the pair at the door of the morgue, the dark rings below his eyes telling their own tale of a sleepless night following the evening's revelry. "Good of you to come." He led the way to the nearest slab. "I hope we're not disturbing your day too horribly, but this murder is a real puzzle and no mistake. Gregson's at a loss, and that's not so very unusual, but even _Patterson_ has no explanation for it."

Any response Holmes might have been about to make was forgotten as he drew closer to the slab, staring at the ghost-white, dessicated corpse that, for a moment, had taken him several months back in time... "Good God..."

"It's not an easy sight to see, is it? We had a devil of a time getting the body back here in one piece, and half the constables think it's the work of some supernatural being. To be honest, well... you may laugh at me, Mr. Holmes, but I'm not entirely sure they're wrong. I've never seen anything like it."

"Small mercies, Lestrade," Holmes murmured, although it seemed unlikely that the poor Inspector _wouldn't_ see something like this again! The detective steeled himself and moved nearer, nudging Watson out of his reverie. A closer look confirmed what he thought he'd seen in that first horrified moment: two puncture wounds at the base of the corpse's throat.

"Good god..." came Watson's aghast murmur at his shoulder.

"Doctor Palmer had to rule 'death by bloodletting,' though he hasn't the faintest idea of how that could have been achieved." Lestrade shook his head. "Two small puncture wounds on the throat, but surely those tiny marks couldn't drain a full-grown man of his blood so thoroughly!"

"One would _hope_ not," Holmes answered grimly, peering at the marks. _Wait a moment..._

Watson brought over the extra kerosene lantern from a shelf. "Does Palmer have a time of death?"

"Harder to say when he doesn't have a previous example to compare it to, but he's ruling between nine and ten o'clock last night—probably within an hour of Havisham finding him. Palmer said that for the body to end up _this_ dry but also this untouched, the bloodletting must have been extraordinarily fast."

"Havisham?!" Holmes's fists clenched, swearing inwardly – so _this_ was what had the constable so rattled last night! _And_ arrived just as they were leaving...

Watson grimaced in sympathy, able to follow the detective's train of thought from his expression. "Where'd he find the poor devil?"

"In an alley, back of a tavern in Limehouse. It was a boy what found him, actually; his scream brought Havisham running over." The Inspector sighed, pulling his coat tighter around him in the chill. "I don't know what to make of it, gentlemen, I really don't."

Holmes was unexpectedly struck by a pang of conscience, torn between his desire to put Lestrade out of his misery, and concern over not revealing more about England's alien population to any of the Yarders than was absolutely necessary! Watson caught his eye, with much the same question in his own: _**What**__ do we tell him, if anything?_

Just then, the door opened, and Hopkins poked his head in. "Ah, good, you're still here. Mr. Holmes, a telegram came for you."

Holmes arched an eyebrow, taking the paper with a nod of thanks. A glance at the message confirmed his suspicions – who else but his brother would wire Scotland Yard to summon him? "From Mycroft. He wants to see us at his office immediately." What a coincidence...

Watson frowned. "I wonder why."

"Well, no doubt we'll find out in due course." Holmes turned to Lestrade, genuine regret concealing his relief. "Our apologies, Inspector. Do keep us apprised of any pertinent developments..." then relented a little at the frustration in his colleague's expression. "And we shall do the same." He doubted there was much more he could have learned from this particular piece of evidence, anyhow.

Lestrade nodded wearily, managing to smile. "I'd appreciate that, Mr. Holmes, thank you."

* * *

Safely out on the street, Watson shook his head and sighed. "Poor Lestrade, he looked so disappointed!" Catching sight of an approaching cab, he hailed it, not keen on walking to Whitehall in the cold, no matter how healthy his leg was now.

"Yes, well, we could hardly tell him his wildest suspicions were almost bang on the mark this time!"

Watson gave a huff of laughter. "Not without him thinking us both mad, no!" As he climbed up into the cab, he remembered something. "And what _was_ it about those puncture wounds that caught your eye?" He could hardly have asked in front of Lestrade.

"Whitehall," Holmes called up to the driver as he climbed in after. "It's not what was there that interests me, Watson, so much as what wasn't. Cast your mind back to our last evening together in Paris – and the lady's usual methods..."

Watson frowned, replaying the scene in his mind's eye. "Well, she must have hunted around taverns, which was where this poor devil was found... oh. Straws. The plasmavore used straws, which left wax in the wounds."

"Exactly, so why was there none to be seen with this victim?" Holmes crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat, frowning thoughtfully. "We know that she was working as one of Moriarty's operatives – although I have no precise idea for how long. I wonder... after all, Mycroft has most likely ordered surveillance of Torchwood's activities since the wedding!"

"You think that this summons may be in connection with the murder?"

"I shouldn't be at all surprised."

* * *

After Sherlock left, Beth started to pull herself together, getting dressed slowly. _Stupid headache, stupid alcohol…_ She found Sally at the sitting room table, feeding Kathy. "Morning," she mumbled.

Sally looked up with a sympathetic grin, a teaspoon of apple sauce poised halfway to Kathy's mouth. "Hey."

Kathy squawked indignantly at the delay, reaching out for the spoon, her face, hands and the napkin around her neck already smeared with apple.

"All right, just a sec!" With a dexterity born of growing practice, Sally managed to get the spoon past the baby's grabbing hands and into her mouth, letting Kathy take it out herself. "There you are, was that nice?" As Kathy started to fuss again, "No, no more, it's all gone. I told you that was the last one!"

Beth chuckled faintly as she sank into her chair. "At least she's still little enough that her fussing is cute." Five-, six-, seven-, eight-year-olds still fussing—not so cute anymore.

"Speak for yourself," Sally answered wryly, starting to clean Kathy's hands and face with the napkin. "How's your head?"

"It's okay…" Starting to feel better, thank goodness. "I just don't feel very energetic." She pulled a face as she filled her own plate—at least she could always count on a fabulous breakfast from Mrs. Hudson, headache or no headache. "What about you?"

"Mm, not bad. I don't think much of that tea, though," Sally grimaced, eyeing the empty cup beside her plate with distaste. God, she missed aspirin sometimes!

Beth nodded gingerly as she poured herself a little coffee. "I tell you, I don't care what anybody says—first time I go back to 2095, I'm smuggling back some painkillers."

"Ooh, yes, please! ...Do you actually know how to use that gizmo yet?" Yes, the two Doctors had given Beth the beginner's tutorial on Boxing Day, but that had to be a _very_ different thing to going solo!

Beth hesitated. "Sort of?" She sighed, needing to admit this to _somebody_… "Honestly… I've kind of been procrastinating. As much as I _want_ to go back... well, I want my first trip to be to my parents' house, and... that's not something I'm ready for yet." She still hadn't figured out what she was going to say—she had an uphill battle ahead of her, and she wasn't expecting to come out anywhere near on top. As befitted her family, that visit was going to be _messy_.

Sally nodded in awkward sympathy, not wanting to point out the elephant in the room: Beth knew perfectly well that going home would just get harder the longer she left it. She decided to change the subject, patting Kathy on the back to burp her. "Well, it looks like us girls are on our own for the morning. Anything you want to do after chores?"

Beth put both hands around her cup and inhaled, basking in the warmth. "Didn't exactly have anything in mind. You?"

"Mm, maybe watch a movie on the phone? Oh, and I need to sort out some more food for Kathy." Sally grinned affectionately down at her daughter, albeit with a sigh: another milestone reached... "No going back now, is there? Not after that crust Mrs. Hudson gave you last night, you loved it!"

Beth shook her head. "And she's only two months old!" For such a long-lived race, Time Lords developed _really_ quickly!

"I knooow!" Sally kissed Kathy's head, cuddling her possessively. It was too soon, she wasn't ready for this! And she would never admit it to anyone else... but she wasn't looking forward to the inevitable sagging chest once her milk dried up, either. Sally had decided long before her pregnancy that corsets weren't for her, except maybe the odd evening out, and now she was seriously considering asking Mrs. Hudson to take _her_ shopping for bras, just as soon as she worked up the nerve!

Beth gave a sympathetic laugh. Her youngest brother, Cameron, was a toddler now, and every step he took away from babyhood was exciting but also sad. _And now you're going to miss out on the rest_...

Sally sighed again as Kathy started to squirm in her lap. "Aaand there's one thing I _won't_ miss! All right, honey, I know." Halfway up the stairs, the doorbell rang. "Somebody get that, I'm changing Kathy!"

* * *

A knock on the sitting room door jolted Beth out of the melancholy she'd been slipping into, and Mrs. Hudson poked her head in. "Beth, dear, did Mr. Holmes mention when he'd be back? There's a telegram from Whitehall this time!"

Beth brightened instantly. "Ah, no, I don't think _he_ knows when he'll be back. Telegram from Mycroft? Can I see?"

The landlady handed it to her and began to clear the breakfast dishes. "Goodness me," Mrs. Hudson smiled, "January 1st, and two messages already!"

"_Another_ one for the boys?" Sally laughed, coming back in with the baby. "Hey, Mrs. H., what's that tradition about the first person in the front door after midnight bringing good luck?" She laid Kathy down on her sheepskin, cooing, "Looks like we're going to have a busy year, huh, sweetie?"

"First-footing, do you mean?" Mrs. Hudson chuckled. "Yes, well, I suppose policemen are lucky for some."

Sally exchanged a grin with Beth. "Yeah, like..." and the girls finished together: "John and Sherlock!"

Giggling, Beth opened the telegram. PLEASE COME TO MY OFFICE AT ONCE STOP MYCROFT STOP. She frowned. "Well, zed."

Sally peered over Beth's shoulder, eyebrows raised. "O-kay, short and sweet! And no clue in there for what it's about..." She frowned. "But does Mycroft _usually_ say 'please'?"

Beth scrunched up her face in thought, wishing that John had written Mycroft in more stories. "I don't… I don't think so, no. Definitely not during the last case. Supremely big deal, maybe?"

Sally nodded, wide-eyed. "Bigger than the submarine plans, for sure."

"Well then," Mrs. Hudson said briskly, "the gentlemen may already be on their way back, but best to send a message to Scotland Yard, just in case! I'll see if any of the boys are about." She bustled out with the breakfast tray, all of this very normal to her.

Beth bit her lip in thought. "Sally," she said slowly, "what if they leave the Yard, but not to come home? I mean, go out investigating?"

"Ooh, that's a point! Dammit, _why_ didn't we get phones for John and Sherlock, too?"

Beth grinned briefly. "Add that to the list of things to do when we get back to the future." She sighed, wishing there was _something_ they could do… And then: "Sally… what if… what if _we_ went to see Mycroft? This sounds important."

"You're kid...!" Sally stopped, scolding herself – going native over female propriety, what next? "I guess... yeah, okay! Mrs. Hudson can tell the boys where we've gone, and I've got money for a cab." She looked over at Kathy thoughtfully, made a decision, and scooped her daughter back up off the rug. It was probably too soon to ask Mrs. Hudson to babysit again, and she needed to practice taking Kathy places, anyway.

Beth grinned at the idea of the two of them taking the baby with them into the offices of the British government. Men in this era needed a good shake-up like that. "Oh, yes, good. Maybe we can't alter history that much, but we're also not bound by it."

A thrill ran through Sally at the sudden change in her friend's expression – older, sharper, almost a shark's grin – a look she hadn't seen since Beth was describing the Ent case to her and John. The whole drawn-out mess of Frozen Time had left Beth with a lot of open wounds, but it had also proved to Sally that her best friend was most in her element when on a case, she was _meant_ to be a detective. "Come on, honey," she murmured to Kathy, "let's get you wrapped up warm. We're going to see Uncle Mycroft!"


	3. Reality Check

**==Chapter 3==**

**Reality Check**

"_I Will Not Apologize  
__for taking up space,  
__for it is mine to take.  
__I will not shrink myself  
__to fit your mold.  
__You cannot stick me  
__in a box for safekeeping."  
_– Lexi Vranick

Even after several weeks of normal time, Beth still loved going out into London in the daytime. The sun hardly ever showed its face, but the sheer amount of light was almost dizzying, sometimes. And the cab ride from 221B to 70 Whitehall had her oohing and ahing like a tourist. She almost forgot to pay the driver, so caught up was she in the sights. "Whitehall is _really_ incredible in daylight." So grand and stately—for the first time in her life, she truly felt the existence of the British Empire here, the power seated in these buildings.

Sally nodded, equally awestruck. "I'm _so_ glad you've been here before – I wouldn't even know which department!" Whitehall was just as impressive in her time, but she'd never dreamt back then that she'd actually have business here! _Which you don't, technically, that telegram wasn't meant for you..._

"I know, right? To be honest, I didn't even know the exact department until I looked up the building itself online—thank goodness the Doctor let us keep wifi!" Trying to find Mycroft otherwise would have been a nightmare!

As they entered the building, Beth was sure she looked like a fish out of water, and she didn't care. The place was huge, and majestic. The last time she'd been here, she'd needed to be sneaky and she hadn't been paying too much attention to the grandeur of the building. _What did this place look like before?_ Several months and an avoidance of grief had blurred her memory.

Thank goodness for front desks and receptionists! She spotted a likely-looking desk and took Sally's arm, walking her over to it. The receptionist was a man probably in his early thirties, unremarkable—at least to Beth's untrained eye. He raised an eyebrow at them, and she could only imagine what they must look like: two teenage-ish young women with a baby showing up here. "Good morning, ladies," he said in a nasal and altogether too-arrogant voice. "May I help you?"

Beth gave him her best winning smile, despite how little she felt it. "Yes, please. Mrs. Sherlock Holmes and Mrs. John Watson to see Mr. Mycroft Holmes." Oh, that felt unexpectedly _good_ to say!

The man looked irritated. "Madam, Mr. Holmes is a very busy man, and he would not appreciate..."

In other words, he didn't believe her. "Right, thank you." Beth turned on her heel and stalked off down a nearby hall—she was sure now that she'd find Mycroft down this hall, and she didn't have time for this nonsense.

"Madam!" the receptionist cried indignantly behind her. But she ignored him, pressing on, and even though she heard him hurrying after her, she was fully as tall as he was and had no problems in staying ahead of him to reach the right door before he could stop her.

Fighting the urge to laugh, Sally followed the pair. Kathy, picking up on her mother's mood, had no such compunction and giggled merrily.

Beth knocked on what she was positive was the door to Mycroft's office and let herself in. "Brother dear!"

Mycroft Holmes started, rising from his desk and staring—surely his eyes were deceiving him. "Elizabeth!"

The receptionist reached the door. "Madam!"

"Good morning, Mycroft!" Sally called cheerily as she came up behind the receptionist, doing her best impression of Mary Poppins.

"Mrs. Watson!" Not an illusion, then. Mycroft sighed quietly. "Thank you, Henderson, that will be all."

Henderson went wide-eyed. "B-but, sir!"

"That will be all," Mycroft repeated sternly.

The younger man stiffened. "...yes, sir."

Sally grinned at Henderson as he passed – they had warned him! "Thank you for the escort, kind sir."

Mycroft looked questioningly at his sister-in-law, who looked entirely too unruffled and unrepentant.

Beth arched an eyebrow in return; he had better not be looking to lecture her. "I'm sorry, Mycroft, but I'm afraid I've lost all patience with men who have none for women."

Mycroft shook his head—of _course_, his brother would marry a woman who was just as much of a troublemaker as he was. The gleam in her eyes dared him to challenge her, but he knew better than to attempt it. He moved around his desk to greet the women properly—"Please do come in and take a seat, both of you"—and led them over to the two chairs before his desk. "I take it, then, that you are here in regards to my telegram?"

Beth nodded. "Yes. You see, Sherlock and John are at Scotland Yard, and your message sounded urgent."

Mycroft successfully suppressed a smile; the dear girl was so earnest. "Indeed it was, which is why I sent the same message to Scotland Yard."

Beth said "oh" silently, wishing she could sink through the floor. "...that was a good idea, yes."

"Oops," Sally said sheepishly. "Guess we should've known you'd think of that!"

Mycroft smiled kindly, not wishing to discomfit the young women. They meant well, a refreshing attitude from what he had to contend with daily. "Well, I'm sure our two stragglers won't keep us waiting overlong. In the meantime, may I offer you some refreshment?" He tugged the bellpull on the wall.

"Thank you, that would be lovely!" Sally smiled.

"Yes, please!" Beth chimed.

Mycroft suddenly remembered he had one more person to contend with, whose needs he could not possibly begin to guess at. "And the, er, young lady?"

"Well, I don't think she's thirsty just now," Sally answered, with as straight a face as she could manage, "but perhaps a plain biscuit?" She almost felt ashamed of herself for wanting to giggle at Mycroft's poorly-disguised look of relief, he was being a most gracious host on the shortest possible notice!

"Of course." One of the subalterns appeared, and Mycroft issued his instructions.

Meanwhile, Beth cast her gaze around the room, remembering with sudden (and unwelcome) clarity what this office had looked like when she was here before. Everything was slightly off now: the desk was a bit smaller, the wallpaper was blue and not green, that lamp had not been over there… Mycroft himself didn't look as he had in Frozen Time. He looked happier and—dare she say—healthier… _there's not a little brother-shaped hole in his life…_ She had to blink back tears then and swallow the rising lump in her throat, hoping nobody had noticed.

While taking Kathy's hat and coat off, Sally caught a glimpse of Beth's face. Oh God, _why_ had she agreed to this, she should have remembered that this place held such an awful memory for her friend! She looked away again hastily, talking cheerfully to Kathy. "There we are, sweetheart, is that better? You come see Uncle Mycroft, he hasn't seen you in ages!" Well, more like a week, but that wasn't important right now.

Ah, Mrs. Watson was much like her husband, then: attuned to the emotions of others and ready to calm troubled waters. Mycroft followed her lead and extended a finger to the baby. "Good morning, Miss Watson, a pleasure to see you again. I hope you are well?" He smiled at Katherine's delighted chirp as she grasped his finger—she was such a dear little thing.

_Aww_. Sally chuckled, wracking her brain for harmless conversation topics. "Ah... you know, Beth and I were talking the other day, about John's case notes?"

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yes?" And what did the young ladies wish to know?

Sally blushed – the Holmes Patent Eyebrow was just as discomfiting from either brother! "Well, it's just that, so far John's only written about you being directly involved in two of Sherlock's cases, and, well... we couldn't help wondering if there were more!"

"Ah." He had suspected something of the kind. "As a matter of fact, there are, but given the nature of my work, your husband has refrained from writing up any more for the public record. Or... removed me from the picture entirely, especially in cases in which I was, you might say, superfluous to the narrative?"

"Oh," Beth said mildly, having pulled herself together again, "_please_ tell me that you wouldn't tease us like that and then leave us hanging."

Mycroft feigned considering it for a moment, then shook his head, stopping just short of grinning. Whatever had distressed his sister, he couldn't refuse her now. "Oh, very well." It was unexpectedly nice to have a bright-eyed female audience hanging on his every word.

* * *

(Scene rating: L)

"Henderson doesn't quite seem his usual urbane self this morning," Watson remarked as he and Holmes approached Mycroft's office. "I do hope he isn't ill."

Holmes, nodded absently, still thinking deeply, although his ears pricked up at the sound of Mycroft's voice coming faintly through his office door – dictating to an underling, perhaps. As they got nearer, however...

"...in Blackfriars, tracking a certain vessel being used in a gunrunning operation. Sherlock was examining the outer boards of the dock for traces of the ship's paintwork, and, er, leant a little too far over. Fortunately – or perhaps _un_fortunately – the tide was almost completely out..."

"Oh no!" _Sally?!_

"Ow." And _that_ was Beth. "I take it he was all right, though?"

"Oh yes, the mud broke his fall well enough – although I thought the good doctor might injure himself in trying not to laugh. Lestrade, of course, showed no such restraint! To do him justice, he did give the pair a ride home in a police wagon. No cab driver in their right minds would have taken Sherlock up in that state!"

A speechless Holmes had finally heard enough, walking in without bothering to knock.

Mycroft turned toward the newcomers, keeping up his jovial mood despite no longer quite feeling it at the thundercloud in his little brother's expression. Under normal circumstances, he would not care so much, but he had no wish to cause trouble between Sherlock and his bride, who had frozen wide-eyed upon his arrival. "Ah, Sherlock, Doctor, there you are! These enterprising young ladies received the message I sent to Baker Street, and decided to answer it themselves in case you could not be reached."

Watson tried valiantly not to grimace, torn between gratification at the girls' initiative and its unfortunate outcome. "Ah... yes, that... was a good idea." He came over to take Kathy from Sally, who had started to fuss at the sight of him. "Hello, little miss – have you been a good girl?"

"Course she has!" Sally smiled, handing the baby over.

Holmes gave Mycroft the silent look of 'We will be talking about this later', drawing up two more chairs for Watson and himself. At least the girls had expressed sympathy! "Well, brother?"

Mycroft settled back in his chair, lacing his fingers together, sobering with the weight of the mission he was about to impart. "Tell me, Sherlock, have you ever heard of Baron Eduárd Mészáros?"

Holmes frowned. "The Hungarian murderer?" Perhaps the summons didn't have a connection with last night's corpse after all.

"Then you know of his wife's death in the Reschen Pass."

Beth frowned at the familiar-sounding details: a baroness dying in a mountain pass…

Holmes snorted. "It's my business to know such things – I am as sure that Mészáros killed his wife as if I had seen him do it. He'd have hung for certain if the only witness had lived long enough to give testimony." He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "What is he doing in England?"

"Officially—that is, for all the world to see—he is engaged to Miss Adelaide Pemberton, the daughter of General Pemberton."

Watson looked up sharply from Kathy, knowing _that_ name very well.

"The union cannot be allowed to be consummated."

"I could not agree more!" Holmes was frowning deeply, and not merely from displeasure. "But why come to me? Can her father not intervene?"

"He has made every attempt, but to no avail. She has a will of iron, she is of age, and she is very much in love—and perhaps worse," Mycroft added grimly.

"And finally we come to it," Holmes sighed. "What _aren't_ you telling me, brother?" It wasn't often he had to drag information out of Mycroft like this, and it was beginning to unnerve him.

Mycroft paused, then leaned forward, settling his hands on the desk. "Sherlock, please understand, I would be remiss in my duties if I did not say, before going forward, that what I am about to tell you _must not leave this room_. Miss Pemberton's future wellbeing is not at all the only thing at stake here. The baron's favoured status with Emperor Franz Josef considered, one wrong move could seriously jeopardise relations between our two empires."

_And jump-start World War I_. Beth traded concerned glances with Sally, shivering as she recalled the ghosts of the future she'd seen in France during Frozen Time, the young French soldiers saying a last farewell to their families before leaving for almost certain death in the trenches.

Holmes exchanged a speaking glance with Watson, who nodded back. "I can assure you, Mycroft," the detective said solemnly, "that you may have the utmost confidence in the discretion of all present."

Mycroft nodded slowly, with a trace of a smile. "I know, brother mine." He sighed—now that it came to it, he wasn't certain he was ready for this conversation; he'd put it off for too long. "I am aware that your, er, recent experiences have brought you into contact with individuals of decidedly... shall we say, _exotic_ origins."

"Aliens, you mean," Holmes replied bluntly, out of patience. "And yes, we have."

Watson stared. "Mycroft... are you trying to tell us that _Mészáros_ is an alien?!"

Mycroft smiled mirthlessly. "Would that he were, Doctor – that would make the situation infinitely less problematic. No, Baron Mészáros is of _this_ world, so to speak... He is a vampire."

"Holy shit!" Sally blurted out, then reddened at the slip, her hand going involuntarily out to John and Kathy. Vampires? _Seriously_?!

Watson took her hand and squeezed it, hoping he looked more reassuring than he felt just at the moment – he hadn't expected to have to defend his family so soon against a deadly threat like this!

Beth gaped at her brother-in-law, mind whirling. A real, honest-to-goodness vampire among European nobility… and other details that seemed familiar…

"Ah." Holmes, meanwhile, had closed his eyes, surprised to find himself more relieved than anything else, as the pieces began falling into place. "Is his own government aware of this?"

"There are persons in the _Evidenzbureau_ who know, yes," said Mycroft, rubbing at his temples, "but the Emperor does not. Franz Josef made Mészáros a baron for services rendered to king and country, and, as I said before, the wretched man remains a favorite of the Emperor's. It would be extremely difficult to convince him of Mészáros's true nature."

"It'll be harder, though, to convince Miss Pemberton of it," Beth murmured. She couldn't imagine being told that the love of her life was a murderer, much less a vampire… She didn't know how she'd react, but she was sure it wouldn't be pretty.

Mycroft glanced at her. "Quite possibly, but the attempt must be made, and without fuss or delay. The fiend has already told her many unsavoury details of his past life, but always in such a way as to make himself out to be an innocent martyr. From what the general has said, she absolutely accepts his version of events and will listen to no other. Thus, the best and, most likely, the _only_ chance of making her see reason is to lay as much incriminating evidence at her feet as is possible."

Beth's eyes widened again, ever so slightly: she knew now beyond a shadow of a doubt exactly which story this case was, and it sent a shiver down her spine.

"How did such a man ever come to meet a lady of Miss Pemberton's standing?" marvelled Watson.

"It was on a Mediterranean yachting voyage last month. The company, though select, paid their own passages. No doubt the promoters hardly realized the Baron's true character until it was too late."

"And there is nothing in which Scotland Yard can act?" Watson persisted.

Holmes shook his head, regret warring with admiration. "The Baron is as cunning as Moriarty was in that regard – the police have so far been unable to prove his involvement in anything illegal. Still..." he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, "he may have blundered rather more recently, without knowing it..."

"Sherlock, I must stress that all that is required here is enough hard evidence to present to the young lady," Mycroft said firmly. Working against a vampire was no time to play vigilante! "I will see to the rest."

Holmes nodded slowly. "Very well..." There was clearly a lot more to this which Mycroft hadn't seen fit to divulge; no doubt his brother planned to bring Mészáros to justice in his own good time – ah, politics! "What is the Baron's current address?"

"Vernon Lodge, near Kingston. It is a large house, and he is home at present."

Watson wrote the address in his notebook. "What else can you tell us about him?"

"Well, as one might expect, he has expensive tastes." Mycroft found it very strange indeed that a supernaturally long-lived being could be so concerned with material pleasures. Had _he_ become immortal, he would have spent his centuries in intense study, expanding his brain attic to encompass as much of the world as he could. "He is a horse fancier. For a short time last year, he played polo at Imphal in India, but then the rumours around his wife's inquest meant he had to leave."

"Hang on," Sally frowned, "vampires can _ride_?"

Beth shook her head. "Yeah, you'd think horses would be smarter than humans."

Mycroft smiled slightly, amused, then continued. "He collects books and art, a man with a considerable artistic side to his nature. He is also a recognized authority upon Chinese pottery and has written a book upon the subject."

"A complex mind." Holmes smiled in satisfaction. "All great criminals have that. My thanks, Mycroft, this case promises to be an absorbing one! I have a few sources of my own, and I dare say we shall make progress before long."

"Indeed," Mycroft said mildly. "I should add that you mustn't expect any aid from the Paternosters—I've already made inquiries, and they're currently out of town. As, for that matter, are Messrs. Jago and Litefoot."

Holmes blinked. "Dear me, that is a pity. I shan't inquire how you became acquainted with Madame Vastra." Hopefully under better circumstances than Holmes had. He rose, and the others followed. "Well, in their collective absence, I suppose I shall begin with Shinwell Johnson." Followed closely by a visit to Kingston.

Mycroft nodded. "Very good. I shall anxiously await reports of your progress, I assure you—the wedding is scheduled for next month." Reports of progress… but also of good health. It had been a long time since Mycroft had sent his brother out on a case that left him concerned for Sherlock's wellbeing.

Beth caught a glimpse of the concern in Mycroft's eyes and gave him a flash of a sympathetic smile before she followed Sherlock out. Her thoughts, however, were already elsewhere. "It better not be Valentine's Day," she muttered, "or I might throw up."

* * *

"So..." Sally broke the awkward silence first, as the group rode back home in a four-wheeler. "Vampires, huh? Gotta admit, I wasn't expecting that!"

Holmes gave Sally's too-bright expression a mirthless smile in response. "Is that so? May I ask what either of you two _were_ expecting?"

The girls exchanged wide-eyed glances: _Oh __**hell**__, he's worked it out._

Sally put up a hand in a 'guilty as charged' gesture. "Um, in our defense, we _really_ didn't know which case this was till Mycroft started talking about G... ah, the Baron's wife!" This wasn't the time to be giving John hints on how to _re_write a case that had only just started!

Beth nodded rapidly. "Yeah, although... really, the vampire thing was the only serious change, as it were…" She scowled. "And even then it makes a whole lot of sense…" Who better of the canon's roster of villains to _be_ a vampire than serial abuser/murderer-and-probably-rapist Adelbert Gruner?

"And look at this way... would we two have been any safer if we hadn't come, and learned the truth?" Sally's arms tightened around her now-sleeping daughter. "Would Kathy?"

Holmes was rendered speechless for a moment, planned tirade forgotten. "...no, I suppose not," he muttered balefully – he hated it when either of the girls did that.

Watson looked at Beth in sympathy—so soon after her experiences with Moran, Beth really didn't need to face a case like _this_, with a man who, in all likelihood, preyed upon women. He turned to Sally. "Darling, we wouldn't have withheld the truth from you." He looked pointedly at a dubious-looking Holmes—they were both married now and they needed to keep their wives informed about what they were doing—then turned back to Sally, smiling. "But in any case, your coming out here did save the explanation. _And_ it was a good effort in the first place."

Sally grinned appreciatively at her husband's praise, then sobered. "So, what now? I mean, Gru... god, sorry, Mis...arosh? was dangerous enough as a human, but a _vampire_...!"

Beth folded her arms over her chest. "Well, _I'm_ getting Will to help me reassemble my vampire hunting kit." She held up a hand to forestall potential arguments. "Not to kill him—" _although wouldn't that be lovely_— "but... protection." She shrugged.

Holmes eyed his wife suspiciously. "_Re_-assemble? When was the _last_ time you went vampire hunting?"

Beth sighed. "After Paris—during Frozen Time—Will and I made kits just in case we ever ran into the vampire lady again. You know, ah…" She waved her hand aimlessly as she tried to remember if she had heard a name for the woman; she didn't think she had. "_We_ ran into her in Paris? Pretty literally."

"Oh, yes... I hate to say it, Beth, but I should think it unlikely that most of the, er, traditional methods would have been effective."

She grinned slightly. "You mean, aside from the fact that a stake through the heart will kill literally anyone?" She dropped the grin, pretty sure that she knew what he meant. "What, are you saying she wasn't a vampire?"

"Not precisely..." Holmes noted that Sally was looking particularly confused, and elaborated: "Watson and I first encountered her in Paris ourselves, while travelling with the Doctor. He called her a plasmavore. If I remember correctly, her species _assimilates_ blood rather than digests it."

"Oh, _that's_ reassuring," Sally said dryly.

"Yeah," Beth muttered, "especially if she can still shapeshift…" Close enough to a vampire, then, even if she was an alien! Beth raised her chin and forced some brightness into her tone. "Anyway, kits! Will and I can make a few and then everybody but the little lady gets their own."

"That sounds like a good idea, yes." The way that Beth was already throwing herself into this reminded Watson strongly of Holmes when he had been not much older than she was now. He wasn't sure if he was proud or concerned, but he had to admire her practical approach.

Sally nodded emphatically. "And pray we never have to find out if they actually work!"

* * *

**Ria:** For future reference, Mészáros is pronounced 'Mee-sah-rosh'. And yes, how our boys met Jago and Litefoot and the Paternoster Gang are stories for another time and place, sorry! Suffice to say we _may_ have some flash-back themed minisodes later on...

**Sky: **We just couldn't do a supernatural Victorian investigation without at least giving them a mention! And if I can just, for once, toot my own horn a little, I wanna say that "I'm sorry, Mycroft, but I'm afraid I've lost all patience with men who have none for women" is my favorite line that I've written. It's just... important for Beth and Sally to try to carve out their own space in a world that wants them to conform to a certain model, and I loved this bit, them going to Mycroft like this. It's Holmes and Watson on the case, but a very _different_ Holmes and Watson! :D


	4. The Illustrious Opponent

**==Chapter 4==**

**The Illustrious Opponent**

_A man without ethics is a wild beast loosed upon the world._

— Albert Camus

"Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

Baron Eduárd Mészáros rose as Holmes was shown into the parlour, giving the detective a slight bow. "Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes. I rather thought I should see you sooner or later. You have been engaged, no doubt by General Pemberton, to endeavour to stop my marriage with his daughter. That is so, is it not?"

Holmes returned the bow, striving to appear as affable as his host, despite the hairs already rising on the back of his neck. "It is."

Mészáros reseated himself, leaning back in his chair, fingers steepled, allowing the detective to observe him at his leisure. The Baron was certainly extremely handsome, his European reputation for beauty well deserved. His figure was no more than middle size, but built upon graceful, active lines. His hair and moustache were raven black, the latter short, pointed, and carefully waxed. His face was swarthy, almost Oriental, with large, dark, languorous eyes which might easily hold an irresistible fascination for women. The only displeasing feature was the straight, thin-lipped mouth. If ever Holmes saw a murderer's mouth, it was there: a cruel, hard gash in the face, compressed, inexorable, and terrible...

"My dear man," the vampire's purring voice intruded upon Holmes's musings, "you will only ruin your own well-deserved reputation. It is not a case in which you can possibly succeed, regardless of any previous successes you may have had with things which were rather, shall we say, _out of the ordinary_? Your work will prove fruitless, to say nothing of incurring some danger. Let me very strongly advise you to draw off at once."

Holmes refrained from staring with difficulty – how in the world did Mészáros know about the Doctor, had they met? "Curious, that was the very advice I had intended to give you. I have the greatest respect for your intelligence, Baron, and meeting you in person has not lessened it. Let me put it to you as..." The detective couldn't help a slight hesitation; "man to man. No one wants to rake up your past and make you unduly uncomfortable. But if you persist in this marriage, you will raise up a host of powerful enemies who will make England far too hot to hold you. Is the game worth it? Surely you would be wiser to leave the lady alone."

The waxed tips of hair under the Baron's nose quivered with amusement as he listened, raising an eyebrow at 'man to man', and he finally broke into a gentle chuckle. "You must pardon my amusement, Mr. Holmes, but it is really quite funny to see you trying to play a hand with no cards in it. I do not think anyone could do it better, but it is rather pathetic all the same." The genial smile faded. "Not a colour card there, Mr. Holmes, nothing but the smallest of the small."

"So you think," Holmes answered coolly, resisting the strong urge to grind his teeth at the Baron's insufferably smug, patronising tone.

The corners of the vampire's mouth lifted again. "So I know. Allow me to make things clear to you, for my own hand is so strong that I can afford to show it. I have been fortunate enough to win the entire affection of this lady. This was given to me in spite of the fact that I told her very clearly of the unhappy incidents in my past life. I also told her that certain wicked and designing persons—I hope you recognize yourself—would come to her and tell her these things, and I warned her how to treat them. You have heard, I'm sure, of post-hypnotic suggestion, Mr. Holmes? Well, you will see how it works, for a man of personality can use hypnotism without any vulgar passes or tomfoolery. So she is ready for you and, I have no doubt, would give you an appointment, for she is quite amenable to her father's will—save only in the one little matter."

"Indeed. Well, Baron, there seems little more to be said." Holmes favoured his host with a cold bow. "I shall bid you good day."

"By the way, Mr. Holmes," Mészáros's voice came lightly from behind as Holmes turned to leave, "did you know Le Brun, the French agent?"

Holmes stopped with his hand on the door-handle. "Yes."

"Do you know what befell him?"

"I heard that he was beaten by the Apaches in the Montmartre district and crippled for life."

"Exactly so, Mr. Holmes. By a curious coincidence—" the detective's hand tightened on the handle at the Baron's audible smile, "he had been inquiring into my affairs only a week before. Don't do it, Mr. Holmes; it's not... not a _lucky_ thing to do. Many have found that out. My last word to you is: let you and yours go your own way and let me go mine. Goodbye!"

_You and yours..._ Holmes stood speechless for a long moment, icy fury flooding through him. "_Au revoir_, Baron," he said quietly, and left without a backward glance.

* * *

Beth had tried her hardest to resist the temptation, but as the afternoon wore on and Sherlock still had not returned from Kingston… she just _had_ to recover her _Complete Sherlock Holmes_ from its hiding place and reread 'The Illustrious Client.' She nodded at every veiled hint that 'Baron Gruner' was actually a vampire—John certainly hadn't been… _wasn't going to be_ subtle about this! She was going over Sherlock's meeting with the Baron when a shadow fell over the sofa. She jumped, heart crashing against her chest, and turned to find Sally standing behind her. Zed, she hadn't even heard her come in!

"Oh God, sorry!" Sally leaned in and gave Beth a hug, and the title at the top of the page caught her eye as she pulled back. "Wow, um..." She instinctively lowered her voice, although John was also out, getting the last supplies they needed for the vampire kits. "Does Sherlock know you've got that?"

"No, he doesn't," Beth hissed, then winced. "Sorry." She sighed. "Wedding present from the Doctor—my first actual hard copy, no less. I just wanted to refresh my memory…" Her eyes narrowed. "Not that it needed much refreshing. This being one of the... darker cases, as it were, it stuck pretty clearly in my memory."

Sally held up her hands. "Hey, lips are sealed!" And she couldn't resist, either, leaning back in. " 'No one wants to rake up your past and make you unduly uncomfortable.' " She had to chuckle at that. "Ooh, Sherlock, you liar!"

Beth smiled briefly. "Yeah." She shook her head. "It's really something else just how much Gruner—I mean, Mészáros – being a vampire makes sense." She hesitated, then continued quietly: "What feels _so crazy_ when you think about it is that he still could have so easily been human... I doubt that this case is going to change terribly much because he's not."

"Mm." Reading further, Sally frowned. "God, poor Sherlock! Look at this, the Baron's just standing there shooting his mouth off, and there's nothing he can do about it!"

Beth sighed again. "I know... Poor thing—he is _not_ going to be a happy camper when he gets home."

Sally nodded glumly. "I know it goes against the Prime Directive and all, but _why_ couldn't Sherlock have taken one of our phones? If Miss Pemberton could hear even half of what John's written here... going to write... the marriage would be off in no time!"

"Mm." Beth looked up. "That's not a bad idea, actually, as an emergency backup. Gruner claims he's got Violet under post-hypnotic influence in the story, and I'm sure that Mészáros has done something similar to Adelaide—but I can't believe even that would hold out under that kind of strain." Saving a life was the most important thing here; she was sure that the Time-Space Continuum could hold up under a little strain.

"Yeah..." Sally flopped onto the sofa with a tired groan. "Y'know, I'm really glad Mycroft's handling the other stuff? If any of us tried convincing a jury Adelaide was _mesmerised_ into getting married, we'd be laughed out of court."

Beth nodded. "And thank God it's winter—at least we don't have to worry about Adelaide sleeping with the window open!"

"Weeell, call me old-fashioned, but wouldn't biting Adelaide right now kind of defeat the purpose of marrying her legally?"

Beth shrugged. "I don't know—I suppose I could come up with arguments either way. That's not what I'm worried about right now, though… There's a very big difference between watching Jeremy Brett getting beat-up in-character and knowing that your husband could be headed towards that, too." The idea had been eating away at her since they'd left Mycroft, her mind supplying her none-too-helpfully with the memory of Jeremy's Sherlock lying bloody and unconscious in an alleyway.

Sally nodded gravely, murmuring, "I was wondering when we were going to talk about that... Cause, yeah, I doubt Mészáros will take Sherlock's meddling lying down, either."

Beth shivered, wishing she could undo the knot in her chest. "Yeah. Well, after today, nobody goes out alone, and I'm going to ask Will to make sure that Sherlock has at least two if not three of the older boys with him whenever he has to leave the house."

Sally gave her friend a sympathetic grin – Sherlock was going to hate having a bodyguard even more than the rest of them!

Beth groaned—she wasn't looking forward to it, either. "I know, I know. He's just gonna have to live with it." She leaned back and closed her eyes. "Ai-yi-yi, of all the bad guys in the canon to be a vampire…"

"Who would you _rather_ have?"

"...Moriarty." A chill ran down Beth's spine, as often happened when she thought of the Professor, but she tried to ignore it. "As much as I'd hate to give him any more power than he already had, I'd have to go with him, considering what Gruner is like in the story." _At least Moriarty didn't have a scrapbook of the women he's hurt_.

"...Good point..." _Yes, I can see you've put a lot of thought into this, well done..._ Sally leaned her head back on the cushions with a sigh. "Count Dracula meets Casanova – good grief! Is it just me, or are we literally living out English Lit. 101 here?"

"Pretty much. At this point, we ought to start drawing up Bingo cards; who knows what the heck's coming next?"

Sally's ears pricked up at the sound of a cab drawing up outside. "Ooh! Sherlock, maybe?" She bounced up off the sofa and went to the window. "Yup, it's him – thank God!" Then she looked back over her shoulder. "Um, Beth?" The _Complete Sherlock Holmes_ was still sitting in her friend's lap.

"On it!" Beth snapped the book shut and rushed into the bedroom to stash it away.

Sally peered back out of the window at the surrounding street. Just John to go... _He'll be all right, surely, Sherlock's only just had his first warning from the Baron!_ Her eye was then drawn by Sherlock's exit from the cab, the detective looking like a thundercloud, stalking up the steps. "Ohh boy."

"Hurricane Sherlock?" Beth called as she hid her book. "Can you give me a category? Oh!" Glancing out the bedroom window, she caught sight of two more welcome figures. "Here's John and Will coming in the back way, and kind of loaded."

The back door opened downstairs, and John called up, "Hello? We come bearing gifts!"

Sally exhaled in relief. "No idea – but if he was a country, he'd be at DEFCON 2!" The front door banged shut a moment later as if to illustrate the point.

"Oy vey." Beth hurried down the stairs, not looking forward to this. "Afternoon, gents!"

Will nodded up to her. "Greetings from the vampire 'unting kit factory!"

Beth giggled, but faltered at the bottom of the stairs when she saw Sherlock, not sure what to do. She had never seen him look so much like a _storm_ before. "...hi, honey."

Holmes nodded jerkily, not trusting himself to respond or look Beth in the eye; he had been hoping to enter unobserved, despite the odds against that happening. "Excuse me," he muttered to no one in particular, and headed upstairs, two at a time. The sitting room was mercifully deserted. Holmes headed to the fireplace, reaching automatically for his Persian slipper on the mantel, then remembered with a snarl of frustration that he didn't keep tobacco in it any more. He paced the floor, running a hand distractedly through his hair, as angry with himself as the Baron. To have let the man... _vampire_ unnerve him so! Mészáros had never shown a hint of fang, but there'd been no need – his parting words had echoed in Holmes's mind all the way home.

Meanwhile, Sally had slipped quietly out of the bathroom and down the stairs. "Don't go up there," she murmured to the others, wide-eyed, "there's a bear in the sitting room!"

Watson's heart hurt a little at Beth's look of distress; the poor girl couldn't be expected to know how to handle Holmes in _all_ his moods, not yet. _Heaven knows it took _me_ long enough_. But he gave her a reassuring smile, and spoke cheerfully but quietly. "Not to worry, Beth, I've seen this dozens of times—he just needs someone to vent to, and I don't mind giving you a break from that." He squeezed her shoulder comfortingly with his free hand.

"Lemme, Doctor," said Will, taking Watson's packages from him. He winked at Beth and headed toward the kitchen.

"Thank you, Will." Watson turned back to Beth. "Now, why don't you sneak up to the sitting room door, and I'll worm out of Holmes exactly what's upset him so much, hm?"

Beth couldn't help smiling at his kindness. "Thank you, John." She gave him a quick hug, then let him go up the stairs first, trying to move in time with him so as not to alert Sherlock.

Watson entered the sitting room and closed the door behind him, allowing Beth to plant herself in front of it. He turned to find Holmes sitting in his chair, staring into the fire, fingers drumming on the arm. Whatever Mészáros had said, it had truly rattled the detective. _Poor Holmes_. "That bad, was it?"

The detective turned his head and gave Watson a Look: What do you _think_? But he'd no sooner done so than he repented of it, his frown becoming one of apology. "Worse." And published case or no, he would now have to recount for Watson every sordid detail of the experience.

* * *

At the end of Holmes's account, Watson sighed, now fully empathising with the other man's frustration. "Holmes… I realise that that devil must have gotten right under your skin—I mean, been immensely irritating!" He winced at his poor choice of words. "But do you not think that letting him even suspect that you had an extra card to play was perhaps… a trifle unwise?"

Holmes scowled, barely listening. "If you had only heard him, Watson! I doubt even you could have placidly borne that arrogant, sneering voice, that... Ohh!" He sprang up and started pacing the room again. "I'll have the fiend, Watson – mark my words, I shall have him!"

Watson's eyes widened, feeling a familiar pang of alarm at the unconscious change in his friend's grammar. "_We_, Holmes," he said severely. He rose from his chair and stood in the way of Holmes's pacing, laying a firm hand on his shoulder and looking him in the eye. "_We_ shall have him." He continued softly, but no less severely: "I understand your frustrations, my dear fellow, but you cannot save Miss Pemberton, or any of his future targets, if you persist in playing the lone crusader—again." He waited until he saw the acknowledging gleam of guilt in Holmes's eyes. "Nothing more can be done till Johnson gives us his report. Until then, you have time to rest, eat, and may I even suggest... to bathe?"

Holmes looked at Watson askance for a moment, then it dawned on him that he actually _would_ feel better for another wash and change, after being in the same room as a vampire. He sighed deeply, sagging as some of the tension went out of him. "Very well."

* * *

Holmes headed to the bedroom and laid himself out a fresh suit of clothes. The sound of running water made him smile ruefully, crossing the hall and putting his head around the open bathroom door.

Beth looked up from the tub and smiled sheepishly. Thank goodness, it looked like his anger had bled out of him a little bit. "Hey."

Holmes felt sure he looked just as sheepish, deeply regretting his attitude downstairs. "I gather there's no need to update you on recent developments?" Of course Beth had been eavesdropping, what had he expected?

She shook her head minutely, blushing a bit. Standing, she wrapped her arms and murmured, "No more going out alone, okay? Not until this is done."

He gladly returned her embrace, murmuring back impishly, "Now, why would you think I would do something so foolish?"

She laughed softly. "Because I know you." She pulled back to smile at him, belying the dread roiling in her gut. He had to make it through this okay, he just _had_ to…

"And because of this afternoon?" He kissed her forehead, hating to see the glimmer of fear in her eyes. "_Cherie_, Mészáros would not have made a direct move against any of us, until he knew for certain that I could not be deterred. But now that he and I have taken each other's measure, we should indeed tread with a great deal more care."

"Well, so should he." She kissed his cheek. "I don't care what Mycroft or anybody says—Mészáros so much as tries anything with you, he's gonna be deader than undead."

Holmes chuckled proudly, kissing her. "That's my girl."

* * *

The four were still waiting for Johnson to make contact the next morning, when a package arrived after breakfast from Whitehall: a dossier containing all of Mycroft's relevant information on the Pemberton family.

"I suppose you knew a fair bit of this already?" Sally asked John, eyebrows raised at General Josiah Pemberton's illustrious service record. She had to admit, the now-retired General looked quite striking in his black-and-white photograph, almost a cross between Sean Connery and Albert Einstein, maybe? He was tall and thin, with greying hair around a balding head, a full beard and a neat English moustache. His eyes (brown, according to the file) looked sad but kind, and Sally's heart went out all over again to the poor man – what must he be going through, seeing his only child losing her heart to a monster? She couldn't imagine that the General hadn't instantly known Mészáros for a libertine, at least!

Watson nodded absently at his wife's inquiry, perusing the notes on Adelaide Pemberton over Holmes's shoulder. Oh dear... well, that explained why the General was a widower! And his daughter had only been _eleven_ at the time? The poor girl! "Château Mont-Choisi..."

Beth was looking from Sherlock's other side. "That's in Switzerland, isn't it?" She wasn't sure _how_ she knew that—probably picked up at some point in Frozen Time. Geez, first the poor girl lost her mom, then she got sent hundreds of miles away to a totally different country! If Adelaide felt a disconnect from her father, Beth couldn't blame her...

"Indeed," Holmes answered, "one of the finest finishing schools in Europe." According to Mycroft's notes, Adelaide had attended Mont-Choisi until her seventeenth birthday in 1891; such a long-distance relationship between father and daughter during the years following Elaine Pemberton's death might explain a great deal now... And Miss Pemberton's photograph told its own story, the young lady having sat for the original only last year. Adelaide was extremely beautiful, but it was the ethereal, other-worldly beauty of some fanatic whose thoughts were set on high; her expression in the photograph was demure and self-contained, as inflexible and remote as a snow image on a mountain. Holmes had seen such faces in the pictures of the old masters of the Middle Ages. How the Baron could have laid his vile hands upon such a being of the beyond...

Just then, Mrs. Hudson knocked and entered the sitting room, wearing her most disapproving expression. "A... gentleman and a lady to see you, Mr. Holmes."

"Ah, Johnson, excellent." Holmes rose, smiling, as the pair entered without waiting to be invited: a huge man with black eyes and a ruddy face, noticeably scarred by scurvy; following close behind was a dark young woman with brown eyes, short, plump and plain of face, her expression a mixture of nervousness and defiance.

Watson had also risen. "Good morning, Johnson, ma'am." He nodded to the young lady, while Mrs. Hudson withdrew with an audible sniff. The good woman might not approve of her lodgers' less-than-respectable connections, but Shinwell Johnson had been a valuable agent for Holmes since his latest release from Parkhurst, combining a sharp eye and mind with the glamour of two convictions, which granted him access to every night-club, halfway house and gambling-den in town.

Holmes, meanwhile, had been observing Johnson's companion keenly, nodding in recognition and satisfaction. The face and form were unfamiliar, but it was still most certainly _her_: her carriage, the way she looked at him, and more importantly, at Beth, whom she shouldn't otherwise recognise.

"Mr. Holmes, Doctor. Ladies." Johnson ushered the young woman to the sofa, perching his large frame gingerly beside her. "This is Kitty Winter. What she don't know..."

Holmes held up a hand, reseating himself. "I know who she is," he answered softly. "_Mam'zelle_... thank you for coming. I can well imagine how difficult a decision this must have been for you."

'Kitty Winter' smiled faintly. "I see your abilities haven't suffered, _monsieur_." And a few moments later, a paler, slenderer woman sat before them all, her eyes now green and her hair a rich auburn.

"Good heavens!" Watson breathed. He had never thought to cross paths with _this_ particular lady again!

Beth started, eyes wide—the lady vampire! The _plasmavore_ was Kitty Winter?! _Just when you thought things couldn't get weirder_…

Sally gasped—it was one thing to _hear_ about a shapeshifting alien, and quite another to see it for the first time in your own sitting room! She caught herself looking across the room at the desk drawer where John kept his service revolver. Would it have been wiser to keep it close to hand…?

"I did not intend to deceive," the plasmavore said quietly, flushing at the uninhibited reactions of her audience. "I merely did not wish to enter this house in a form that the Baron would recognise."

"Of course." Holmes glanced approvingly at Johnson, the only one besides himself who hadn't turned a hair during the entire display. "And it seems you could not have a better escort until this matter is resolved."

"Don't you worry, Mr. Holmes, Kitty's told me enough about what we're dealing with here." Johnson cracked his knuckles, grinning wickedly. Even for Holmes, it was easy to believe just now, in daylight, that a vampire seeking a meal from Shinwell Johnson would get a great deal more than they had bargained for.

Kitty shook her head, lips twitching, then sobered. "_Monsieur_, Porky here has told me about Mészáros's engagement, and that you are out to stop him. Has his fiancée been told of his late wife? Of any of his history? _Mon Dieu_, surely you know enough about him already to prevent any girl in her right mind from wanting to be in the same parish as him."

"We have good reason to suppose that she is not," Holmes replied gravely.

"Apparently, she's very much in love," Beth said quietly. She hated saying it—she didn't want to think about something as strong and pure as love in conjunction with a monster like the Baron.

Kitty smiled bitterly. "In love and under his influence, _oui_, of course. You can excuse anything in that state, even murder."

"Well, at present Miss Pemberton is of the firm belief that the Baroness's death was an accident," said Holmes. "Mészáros has told her most of his sins, moreover, and had pardon from her."

Kitty's eyes widened. "Under his influence _very_ strongly, then. Do you have any proofs to lay before her?"

"Not yet. Can you help us do so? I also ought to mention that, if possible, Miss Pemberton is to remain unaware of her fiancé's, er, species."

"Ah. That shall complicate things. It would be difficult to tell her my own story without bringing that up."

Holmes nodded, rubbing his chin. "Well, if you are prepared to tell us your story, _mam'zelle_, we should be honoured." He glanced over at Watson, who obligingly put his notebook and pencil away in his pocket. "Your previous connection with the Baron may well indicate how to proceed here."

Kitty nodded as well, looking down at her clasped hands. "You must understand, _monsieur_, it is not so much what he did to me as what I learned about him... Compared to many, many others, I... I believe the expression is, 'got off lightly.'"

"Miss Winter," Beth murmured, "_whatever_ he did to you is inexcusable." She could hardly believe she was beginning to empathise with the other woman, but everything in the plasmavore's voice and face and body language rang true. However much else had changed, the real version of Kitty Winter _had_ been hurt by the real version of Baron Gruner.

Kitty blinked, then slowly inclined her head. "I shall tell you, then, and you may be the judge."

* * *

"I first met the Baron in 1894—his wife was still alive, and they were on holiday in Paris. We met while... on our respective hunts, and he was intrigued when he realised that I was not of his kind and yet so very similar. We... met... a few times more. I thought nothing of his wife at the time—it was not the first time a nobleman had used me to cheat on his spouse. Eduárd... encouraged me to try something new: feeding on the blood of drunks. I don't know if he intended me to... form a habit, but I can guess. He was everything I had ever sought in a man: charming, handsome, intelligent, powerful—and he was like me, if not quite my kind. I had been on my own for a very, very long time. My parents were the only other plasmavores I knew, and they were both murdered when I was very young.

"The Mészároses left Paris, but not before the Baron promised to return to me. Which he did, last spring. He said that he was free as a bird now, and wouldn't I like to come with him to London? He offered me comfort, security... love... a real _life_. I am well over a hundred years old, but I cannot say that I have _lived_ all that time. Of course, I said 'yes.' Not even the death of his wife dissuaded me—he had claimed it was an accident, and who was I to say otherwise? I had not been there to see it happen. I told myself that many more times. He eventually began to confide in me, every now and then, of the things he did. The murders, the ones that were not feeding. For getting people out of his way. He was proud of it. So clever that no one would ever know it was him.

"And I stayed. I told myself that he was only afflicting humans, which I was not. I was like him—surely I was safe! Not that I felt terribly safe. He never hurt me, he never forced himself on me—he never threw vitriol at me as I heard he'd done to one poor girl. But he would raise his voice and I would cower. Of the two of us, he was clearly the stronger.

"Then I met the Baron's sire, the woman who had made him a vampire. She was much like him, but even she did not care for the monster she had created. She warned me, told me Eduárd was not safe, not even for me. I tried to ignore her words, but... eventually, I went to look for answers, answers that I'd hoped would give me peace of mind.

"Instead, I found his hidden library. It wasn't a library for books, _monsieur_—it was a library for _records_. Everything written in Hungarian that is likely a couple of centuries old. But I could read a little, here and there: Hungary borrowed some words from France. Not that I _needed_, per se, to read what he had written—there were many photographs and paintings and sketches. The journals of one shelf were full of them. That is when I finally, truly understood: Eduárd Mészáros collects women. Collects us the way he collects his precious china. There were so, so many images... including my own. I ran, then—ran right out of the house and never went back. I haven't seen Eduárd Mészáros since."

* * *

There was stunned silence from the others in the room for a few moments after Kitty had finished. Holmes had been trying to remain expressionless throughout, but Watson had noticed a tell-tale crease between the detective's brows growing steadily deeper. Even Shinwell Johnson looked as if he was hearing some of the story for the first time; the thug put his big, red-knuckled hand over Kitty's and patted it awkwardly, murmuring, "All right, old girl."

Sally had been blinking hard towards the end, but Johnson's response finally broke the spell and made the tears spill over, compassion mingled with shame for her earlier reaction.

Beth's eyes burned, a familiar tightness in her chest and ball of heat in her gut. _Mészáros would have gotten along very well with Moran…_ She wanted nothing more than to march right down to Vernon Lodge and set the whole thing on fire with the Baron in it. And the look on John's face made her think that maybe he wanted just about the same thing, she'd never seen that thundercloud expression from him before…

Kitty put her other hand over Johnson's with a tremulous smile and squeezed it, turning back to Holmes. "So, you see, _monsieur_, I am not sure I can be of any real help to you—though, do not misunderstand me, I would dearly love to be."

Holmes held up a hand, leaning forward, eyes gleaming. "This hidden library you've described, _mam'zelle_... was it at Vernon Lodge?"

"_Oui_. It was behind one of his display cases of china."

Beth frowned. "_China_ in a moveable display case?"

"Those pieces must have all been copies." Kitty tossed her head. "Eduárd loves his porcelain far more than his women—he would never risk harm to any of _them_."

"_Mam'zelle_, this is most important," Holmes urged, "does the Baron know that you have seen his collection? If he had no reason to suspect... and if he knew his, er, sire had encouraged you to escape... he may not have thought it necessary to find a new hiding place."

Kitty shook her head. "I closed up the passage the way I found it; I do not think he would have suspected that I had been there." Colouring slightly, "You see, his... regard... for me was already beginning to cool. I am sure he assumed I left because of it."

Holmes nodded in sympathy. "You were indeed fortunate, _mam'zelle_. And thanks to you, we can ensure that he will use no other woman so."

Watson nodded fervently. "If we can show Miss Pemberton just one of those journals…" And he felt unpleasantly certain that the Baron had already begun a new entry for his betrothed. "That would be enough, wouldn't it? To break his hold over her?" Surely no one, no matter how in love, could stand to see themselves catalogued with countless other conquests!

"I pray so. However... I think we must first try less drastic measures. There is always the chance that Miss Pemberton's blind faith in her fiancé may be shaken by living proof of his past. If you are willing, _mam'zelle_, I will arrange with General Pemberton for you and I to see his daughter." Holmes added gently, "You need not reveal any more to her than the Baron's treatment of you as his lover. More than that might cast further doubt upon our motives, at this stage."

"Can't you just tell the fool girl about the library?" Johnson frowned.

"Not without further compromising her safety, I fear. Whether she believed us or not, she would most likely relate to Mészáros what we had told her."

"And if Adelaide doesn't tell him," Sally put in, "what's to stop her from looking for it herself?" Centuries' worth of affairs, and all in the Baron's handwriting... Even if she couldn't read the language, a clever, educated girl like Adelaide Pemberton might very quickly work it out – assuming she wasn't caught!

Kitty sighed. "I... will come with you, _monsieur_, if you wish. I am not sure what good it will do, but I will come."

Sally exchanged a look with Beth. Neither of them were sure, either – but given how different the case already was from the story, what did they have to lose?

* * *

**Ria:** Yes, this chapter is plagiarising heavily from the original story, but we couldn't think of a way to improve on Doyle's description of the Baron for such an important moment as that first scene. And there will be probably many more such examples – those who know the canon story well, see if you can spot them all!

**Sky:** Okay, but the plasmavore is back! And as _Kitty Winter_, no less! Who saw that coming? (Hopefully no one, lol.) But it just made a lot of sense to bring her back like this, our sympathetic antagonist that we just couldn't seem to let go of, and I'm really glad to have her back.

Oh, and yes, I too would rather have Moriarty as a vampire than Gruner. Just saying. (And Ria has actually _written_ a multi-part story in which Moriarty IS a vampire—just check out her "B for Baker Street" on her profile!)


	5. Adelaide

**==Chapter 5==**

**Adelaide**

_It is often difficult to admit that someone you love is not perfect, or to consider aspects of a person that are less than admirable.  
_– Lemony Snicket, The Grim Grotto

The interview was swiftly arranged with General Pemberton, set for half past five that same evening at the Pemberton residence in Russell Square. Holmes didn't like the timing at all: darkness came on a lot sooner in the winter, even if there would be three of them in the carriage, but Adelaide apparently wouldn't be returning home until five o'clock, anyhow. To help pass the time, Kitty ran her eye over the contents of Beth's vampire kits.

"Garlic? Ah, _non_, I have seen him eat that. Silver... he does not _like_ to touch it, as if it was uncomfortably hot, but it will not burn him. No holy water? Well, perhaps that is best, I could not tell you what it would do to him, if anything." Kitty sighed as she came to the next staple. "But you can leave out the crosses – holy symbols merely give him a headache."

"Oh. I wonder," Beth mused aloud, trying not to let her disappointment show, "maybe... it's got something to do with how _much_ of a soul a vampire has left when they see one?" If that was really a thing, vampires lacking souls—she was burning to find out, actually. She knew it was dangerous, but given this opportunity, she was dying to learn all that she could about what vampires were _really_ like!

Kitty shrugged. "_Peut-__ê__tre_. Ah – now, a stake through the heart would almost certainly work!"

"'Almost'?" Holmes started to say, then fell silent, reddening as he remembered Kitty's words to the Doctor the first time they'd met. The woman's knowledge was almost certainly based upon the fate of her own people... He cleared his throat and changed the subject. "Er, what about beheading? Same principle?"

"I... suppose?" Kitty's lips twitched. "But then, I never saw anyone try it."

"Fire?"

"_Je ne sais pas_. He is careful around it, but no more than other people."

"And we already know he can stand sunlight!" Watson said, busily scribbling notes. "Oh, what about entering a dwelling?"

Kitty snorted. "I have never known Eduárd to let a lack of invitation stop him! Especially where he is unwelcome..."

An awkward silence reigned for a few moments, broken by Sally. "Um..." _Go on, no such thing as a stupid question in a horror movie! _"Can he fly? Like, as a bat, or anything?"

Kitty gave her an odd look, nodding slowly. "I _have_ seen him travel as mist once or twice... though he does not like to at this time of year. In a fog, it is difficult for him to keep himself separate from it."

Beth and John blinked at the same time. "Well," Beth said finally, both eyebrows raised, "that's not disturbing at all."

Holmes rubbed his chin, trying to look as if he were simply frowning in thought rather than revulsion. One had to be grateful even for small mercies, after all... but just now, with darkness already fast approaching, it didn't feel like any kind of advantage at all.

* * *

Johnson looked around appreciatively at the cosy interior of the four-wheeler carriage, his large frame taking up almost the whole rear-facing seat. "Very nice! Can't think why you gents don't ride in one of these more often."

Holmes shrugged modestly. "Well, a little more frequently nowadays." Four adults and one baby could hardly squeeze into a hansom!

Kitty smiled faintly. "I'm sure. Congratulations, by the way," nodding at the detective's wedding ring.

"Hear hear!" Johnson said heartily. "Never pegged you for getting yourself leg-shackled like the doctor, Mr. Holmes, but your missus seems a right 'un."

Holmes coloured – he was only used to this sort of chaffing from Watson! "Ah... thank you. Most kind."

"She is a lioness," Kitty murmured, studying her boots, her own cheeks pink.

A suddenly speechless Holmes had to look away out of the window, pretending to scan the streets for suspicious activity.

Johnson's mouth quirked, letting the tension drag out a bit longer before asking, "One thing's been puzzling me, though, Mr. Holmes: how _did_ you know our Kitty knew His Nibs?"

"Like calls to like, _mon ami_," Kitty answered, trying vainly to suppress a smile at the irreverent address. "Is it not to be expected that two hunters of the same prey should cross paths occasionally?"

"No, _mam'zelle_, it was not merely that..." Holmes hesitated, realising guiltily that he should have mentioned the corpse at Scotland Yard to Johnson before Kitty ever entered his house. Had he really been that eager to see her again? And never mind that he did find her dangerously attractive – a fact that must be glaringly obvious by now to everyone else... _If Beth ever finds out that you endangered your key witness by not telling her the whole truth, she'll have your hide for a new hearthrug!_ "May I ask if your, er, methods of feeding have undergone any significant change since our first encounter?"

Kitty blushed furiously. "Ah... yes... in a manner of speaking... I, ah..." Looking down again, she went on quietly, "I still feed on humans. But I don't drain the bodies completely, and I cut their throats and throw them into the river, to cover my tracks. Why do you ask?"

"Don't look like that, Mr. Holmes," Johnson rumbled warningly, "you knew what we are – and neither of us is any use to you in the clink. Kitty worked bloody hard to get herself off the boozers, and with no help from you lot, or Torchwood, either."

Holmes held up a hand. "No, no, I... I quite understand. _Mam'zelle_, is this true? You have stopped feeding on drunks?" He couldn't have been more pleased for her in that regard.

Kitty nodded. "Eduárd created my... addiction... to use against me, and then the Professor did just that. I won't let that happen again."

"Plenty of worse scum in London than the nightly sots," Johnson grunted in obvious satisfaction.

"...I see." In other words, the ones that wouldn't be missed, which the police would be only too happy to write off as misadventure. And it wouldn't do Johnson's reputation any harm, either, if they just happened to have crossed him previously. "Well, in any case, I first suspected the connection because of a... an attack outside a Limehouse tavern on New Year's Eve." The detective found himself strangely hesitant to use the word 'murder' just now. "The victim's appearance was remarkably similar to the corpse which led us to you in Paris: drained of blood, two puncture marks at the base of the neck – however, I observed at the time that there was no wax in the wounds. Then my, er, client contacted me and engaged me to stop the Baron's marriage, divulging that Mészáros was also a vampire." He spread his hands. "Forgive me, _mam'zelle_, but it seemed far too much of a coincidence to ignore."

"_Non_, that is entirely fair. But I can tell you that I was nowhere near Limehouse that night." Kitty hesitated, then sighed. "And unless there was also a slash mark, _monsieur_, the deed was not done by me, either. I cannot say for certain that the Baron is the attacker you're looking for—you do have your own native vampires, after all—but it does seem likely. Eduárd's favored prey is women, of course, but... he has been known to feed on men, as well."

"Is it just my nasty, suspicious mind, ladies and gents," Johnson drawled, "or does it seem like a bit too much of a coincidence that Kitty was Number One Suspect for a while there? If the Baron knows she's still in London..."

"That does sound very like him," Kitty nodded. "Manipulative."

"Indeed," Holmes frowned. "It may be that Mészáros wishes to... punish you? For daring to leave him of your own accord?"

Kitty gave him a mirthless smile, hugging herself. "Oh, he might, _oui_. And if that is the case, there will certainly be more punishment to come."

Johnson nodded grimly, hand casually remaining near the suspicious bulge in his coat pocket. "Oh yes, my girl, so there will."

* * *

"Mister Sherlock Holmes and Miss Kitty Winter, my lady."

Adelaide Pemberton rose as a footman ushered the pair into the opulent drawing room, observing their approach with cool disdain, although looking faintly mystified at Kitty's presence. "Mr. Holmes. Miss Winter." Bows exchanged, she waved the visitors into their chairs with the haughty grace of a prioress, reseating herself. "Well, sir, your name is familiar to me. You have called, as I understand it, to malign my fiancé, Baron Mészáros. I have only agreed to this visit out of respect for my father, Mr. Holmes, and I warn you that nothing you can possibly say can have the slightest effect upon me."

Holmes shook his head gravely, allowing the concern and pity he felt for the poor, deluded girl to show freely. "It is not our wish to cause you pain, Miss Pemberton, but rather to help you. If I had a daughter of my own, I hope I should feel for her the same concern as the General does for you. Tell me, my lady, have you ever had cause to doubt your father's judgement in the past? A leader of men, who has learnt through necessity to read another's character by the subtlest of signs?"

Adelaide's lips compressed, a faint tinge of colour in her ivory cheeks, but her voice remained calm and composed. "You begin with a colour card, sir – really, it's almost admirable."

Holmes felt the hair rise on the back of his neck on hearing one of the Baron's own turns of phrase, all the more chilling for its tranquil delivery. One could easily believe that the young lady was living above the earth in some ecstatic dream, conjured in her mind by whatever means Mészáros possessed... Yet there had been nothing indefinite in Adelaide's words, or in her next response, despite the regret in her voice, gaze falling on her folded hands in her lap. "It was never _my_ wish to cause anyone pain, sir. If I believed for a moment that marriage to any other man would lessen my father's suffering... But he has grown so altered of late – even before we sailed in December... and is so very much attached to me that I cannot believe he would genuinely approve of any man's claim upon me." She looked up again, smiling faintly, eyes shining. "If mere words will not convince him of my future happiness with Eduárd, then I shall wait patiently, and trust to God that he may live to see us happy."

A disbelieving laugh escaped from Kitty. "Oh, you poor thing—that will certainly never happen."

"In_deed_?" Adelaide's tone was suddenly much colder, turning her gaze deliberately back towards Holmes, a studied insult. How interesting... "Who, pray, _is_ this young lady, Mr. Holmes?"

"You might take a guess, _mademoiselle_," Kitty answered sharply. "I was the Baron's last mistress, or one of them—it's been almost a year, so who can say? I am one of the hundreds he has tempted and used and ruined and thrown into the refuse heap, as he will you also. Your refuse heap is more likely to be a grave, and that may even be best." She stood and moved so that she was directly in Adelaide's vision, holding eye contact. "If you marry this man, he'll be the death of you. It may be a broken heart or a broken neck, but he will have you all the same."

Miss Pemberton's eyes had widened as Kitty identified herself, and now narrowed, glittering with poorly concealed hostility, lips tight. Despite his growing annoyance at the woman's unreasoning stubbornness, Holmes couldn't help feeling sorry for her. There were few women in any era who would be gratified to learn that their betrothed had taken mistresses, especially when the first-hand evidence was staring them right in the face! "I should prefer not to discuss such matters." Adelaide's voice was now glacial. "I am aware of three occasions in my fiancé's life when he has become entangled with _designing women_," the last two words audibly dripped with venom, "and I am assured by him of his hearty repentance for any evil that he may have done."

"_Three_?!" Kitty laughed bitterly. "And if he has repented, my lady, then he certainly owes _me_ an apology at the very least, to say nothing of his poor dead wife! He had an affair with me while she was still alive, did you know that? They were visiting Paris; he met me, and bedded me. I'm ashamed now to say I thought nothing of it—it was not the first time a nobleman has used me to cheat on his wife. You needn't look at me like that, my fine lady—I was a street girl with no skills, no friends, no family. My parents had been killed when I was a little girl, and I have just as much right to survive as anyone else. But this time was different. This time, I fell in love. He was handsome and charming, and I know how you feel about him, _mademoiselle_: I have felt the same. And when the Baroness died, he came back to Paris to take me with him to London. He had claimed that her death was an accident, and I believed him. But as time went on, I could only ignore so many deaths, so many murders. Not just women, either, but men, as well..." Kitty faltered, closing her eyes for a moment. "Even children."

"...It's not true..." Adelaide was now deathly pale, fingers unconsciously crushing her skirts. "You're lying!"

"At the same time, he was tiring of me, had already brought a couple of girls home with him—I never knew what happened to them, but I can only hope they're safe. I ran away. I no longer felt safe with him, and I ran." Softly, "I don't even have enough money to get home."

Holmes inhaled sharply, too late to stop Kitty from uttering the fatal words, while Adelaide's eyes gleamed with triumph – at last, the truth! "I am sorry for your misfortunes, Miss Winter," she cooed in honeyed tones, then rose and unclasped the ornate brooch from the collar of her dress. "But as you see, I can do very little at this moment to help you." She dropped the brooch at Kitty's feet, lips twisting unconsciously in a sneer. "Perhaps whatever Mr. Holmes is being paid to slander your _former_ paramour will defray the rest. Good day to you."

Kitty had gone white, trembling in rage. A swift movement of her heel, and the brooch was in pieces on the rug. "_I don't want your money_," she hissed, whipped around and began to march away, then turned back for a moment. "Give _dear_ Eduárd my love, won't you? I'm starting to wonder if perhaps you are perfectly suited for him, after all." Chin held high, she swept out.

A coldly furious Holmes rose and bowed stiffly to Adelaide, beginning to wonder much the same thing himself. "Miss Pemberton." Pausing at the door, "You are aware, my lady, that the Reschen Pass, where your predecessor died, runs between Italy and Austria?"

"W-what?" Adelaide lifted her stunned gaze from the shattered brooch, gesturing impatiently. "Yes, of course! What does the geography matter?"

"A great deal," Holmes answered severely, "if you plan to hurl a helpless woman off a cliff in one country to break her neck in another. Good evening."

* * *

Holmes and Kitty had originally left Johnson in the hall, but there was no one there now except for the butler by the open front door, who coughed meaningfully. The detective collected his hat, gloves and coat, and stepped outside to find Kitty and Johnson waiting in the carriage.

The woman who now called herself Kitty Winter was shaking, hugging herself to try to stop it but with no success. "I have so much more blood on my hands than she ever will," she whispered—and no matter what anyone else had ever thought of her, that _did_ mean _something_ to her!— "how can she be so much colder…?" Was it truly Eduárd's influence, or had he merely chosen his new mate well? She forced herself to look up at the detective, unpleasantly reminded of the last time she had been forced to apologise for a failure. "I'm sorry, _monsieur_."

The genuine anguish in Kitty's face, in stark contrast to Adelaide's petulance, struck Holmes to the heart. "Oh, _mam'zelle_." He climbed in and sat beside her, taking her hands in his. "No, no, no. Kitty, Miss Pemberton's expression spoke volumes in there. You actually shook her out of her self-complaisance for a moment, far more than any poor words of mine ever could have. She was desperate to disbelieve you, any excuse would have done."

Lowering her gaze, Kitty nodded, cheeks suddenly warm. "I know... I remember that desperation."

"Still don't make it right, old girl, the way she went off at you," Johnson said grimly, shaking his head. "Lady of breeding, my eye! If I was her old man..."

Holmes raised an eyebrow at Johnson's admission of eavesdropping but said nothing, rapping on the carriage roof. "Well, then. It would seem that we have come as far as we can by honest means."

Johnson grinned. "That so, Mr. Holmes?"

Kitty smiled faintly. Despite the circumstances, there was a certain thrill to being involved in one of the Great Detective's cases. "What comes next, then, _m__onsieur_?"

"A visit to Baron Mészáros's library." Holmes hesitated as his conscience gave him a sharp jab – was there really a need for Kitty's continued involvement? "_Mam'zelle_, I need only one thing more from you: whatever you can remember about the layout of Vernon Lodge, and its grounds. Once we have that, Johnson and I can determine how best to gain access."

Johnson nodded thoughtfully. "Now you mention it, Mr. Holmes... I reckon I know a few cockers who can tell me what's new about the place – if it's worth the risk, that is."

"Of course." Holmes emptied his entire purse into Johnson's hand.

"That'll do nicely." Johnson stuffed the money into his pocket and banged on the roof to stop the carriage. He swung himself out, sharp eyes scanning the dark street as Kitty climbed down after him.

Holmes felt a sudden chill as it fully dawned on him that the group was about to split up. "One moment, _mam'zelle_. Perhaps... it would be best if you returned with me to Baker Street while Johnson conducts his errand? Miss Pemberton will certainly tell the Baron of our interview..." And Kitty was heading back into a world that wasn't safe for a female at the best of times, even without a vampire on the loose!

Kitty hesitated—the concern shining in his grey eyes reminded her of when they'd first met, of the kindness he'd shown towards someone he thought was a lost little girl… But there was a ring on his finger, and a girl in 221B who was waiting anxiously for her husband to come home. It would be foolish to torture herself any further. "That is very kind of you, _monsieur_, but I shall be all right, thank you. I do not wish to be an inconvenience…" She exhaled slowly, not quite looking him in the eye. "And I would appreciate it if you would not contact me again unless you must, _s'il vous plaît_."

Holmes reddened, hearing what she wasn't saying. "I, er... yes, of course! By all means. Send the details for the house by Johnson, if you wish. Kitty..." he said abruptly as she turned away, "for whatever it is worth... I am sorry." For the Baron, for Moriarty, for having caused her pain himself, and then dragging her back to face it all again. "If I can ever be of assistance to you in future..." She had said she wanted to go home, and a ticket back to France was well within his means... but he wasn't sure how to put that into words without sounding as insulting as Adelaide Pemberton.

She smiled sadly as she turned back towards him. "_Merci_. But you have done more than enough." Lifting her chin, she gave him a little smirk. "You may call me a suffragist, if you like—I think it's about time I stopped relying on the male sex so much, _non_? I'm nearly two hundred years old; I need to stand on my own two feet."

Holmes smiled sincerely, though with regret – he would be sorry not to see her again, however inadvisable that might be. "I will bid you _adieu_, then, _mam'zelle_." He bowed deeply. "_Et bonne chance_."

"And to you, _monsieur_." She curtseyed as she had learned to do when she was a child. "_Adieu_." This was for the best, and on better terms than she could have hoped for before. Chest aching, she turned away once more and rejoined Porky, who nodded to Holmes and followed her into the shadows and the mist.

* * *

Waiting for Sherlock to return, the other adults of the house had drifted off to their own devices. Mrs. Hudson was finishing cleaning up in the kitchen, John keeping her company and carving a wooden toy for Kathy—he'd discovered a taste for woodwork while helping craft stakes for the vampire kits. Sally was dozing on the sitting room sofa, with one ear out for Kathy—the baby had seemed to sense the tension in the house and had trouble settling in to sleep. Beth had curled up on the window seat, trying to read a G.A. Henty novel and mostly failing, eyes drawn every five seconds to the street below, searching for a returning four-wheeler. _He's been gone for so long now!_ She tensed when at last she heard the sounds of a carriage, and one rolled into sight, stopping on the other side of the street…

But when the carriage door opened, a body fell onto the cobblestones, clearly pushed, and the four-wheeler immediately moved on.

She didn't realise at first that she had stopped breathing. A man was lying facedown on the street, and it was difficult to tell from this distance, but she didn't really need to.

She sucked in air and screamed. "_JOHN!_"


	6. Countermoves

**==Chapter 6==**

**Countermoves**

_I am not actually tired, but numb and heavy, and can't find the right words. All I can say is: Stay with me, don't leave me._

– Franz Kafka, Letters to Felice

Grabbing up her revolver, Beth ran out of the room and down the stairs, only dimly hearing Sally's cry of alarm as she snapped awake. "What, what?!"

Down in the kitchen, Watson's blood froze at the scream. Merciful God, what had happened?! Snatching up one of the newly-carved stakes, he raced up the hall, knife still in hand, Mrs. Hudson close behind. "Sally? Beth?!"

Beth took the stairs two at a time, tripping over her words as she tried to reply, heart still not working properly. "Just dumped—a cab—dumped in the street—someone—I think it's Sherlock!"

Mrs. Hudson's hand flew to her heart. "Oh dear," she murmured faintly. But they'd been in similar straits before, horrible though they were, and she knew what to do: she hurried back into the kitchen to gather supplies and boil water, the doctor would need it…

"John, here!" Sally leaned over the landing balustrade and threw her husband's Gladstone down to him. Poor Kathy had woken again and started to wail, but her parents really didn't have a moment to spare just now!

"Oh, good girl!" Watson caught the bag, dropping his weapons on the hall table, then dashed after Beth. Please, God, _please_, let the thrice-damned bloody stupid fool not be dead! He could deal with _anything_ else, just_ not that_...

Beth burst out the front door, not stopping for a coat… and her heart stuttered. People were milling around the man lying in the street, and someone had turned him over, the light of the streetlamps revealing his features.

And underneath the dark bruises and the dried blood, she saw her husband.

One man, a gentleman, was kneeling beside Sherlock, hand on his heart. As Beth ran up, he called, "Do you know this man, miss?"

Beth dropped to her knees at Sherlock's side, vision stupidly blurry as she tried to calm down, tried to assess things. _You're no good to him like this!_ But her hand was shaking—her whole body was shaking hard—as she brushed the hair away from his closed, bruised eyes. "He's my husband."

"Well, he's still alive, ma'am," the other man said gently, "but he needs a doctor sharpish."

"I'm his doctor." Watson knelt beside Holmes, checking him over with the speed and skill of long practice, hoping fervently for Beth's sake that he didn't look as furious or anxious as he felt just now! Thank God... no obvious puncture marks, at least; pulse weak but steady. He looked up at the onlookers, dismayed to see Will and Kelly among them, staring in horror. "I need something for a litter – a board, a blanket, anything that'll support his back." While applying a field dressing to the worst wound on Holmes's head, he addressed Beth gently but firmly. "Beth, God knows I'd rather have you angry than scared tonight, but right now I need you _calm_. Can you do that for him?"

Beth felt like the world's worst liar as she nodded, unable to speak, still trembling uncontrollably.

"His outward injuries aren't all that serious – a couple of scalp wounds, but the rest is mostly bruising, I believe. Still, I'd like to get him to hospital to check for any internal injuries." The circumstances were far from ideal, but Beth was the closest next-of-kin on the scene; he had to let her make that decision.

It took her a moment to understand, and her chest tightened even as she nodded and found enough of her voice to croak out an "okay."

"We foun' this, Doctor!" The boys were back, dragging the splintered remains of an old door between them.

"Well done, lads. Let's lift him on – gently, now."

Sherlock groaned as he was moved, forehead creasing, and Beth was back at his side in an instant. Chest tightening further, she laid her hand lightly on his forehead. "Sh, sh, sh, it's all right, honey. It's all right." He turned his head into her touch, eyelids fluttering, and she almost broke down completely into tears.

Sally came running out in a shawl, her arms full of blankets, one of them rolled up. "From Mrs. Hudson." The sight of Sherlock made the blood drain from the girl's face, but she took a deep breath and steeled herself – Beth was the one who needed comforting the most!

"Ah, thank you, my dear." Watson put the rolled blanket under Holmes's feet, covering him snugly with the others. He turned and pointed to a couple of men in labourer's clothing, 'Major Watson' back as if he'd never left. "You two, help us carry him."

The pair all but snapped to attention. "Where to, Doctor?"

"St. Mary's, it's only a mile away." The men looked at each other wonderingly, and Watson didn't blame them: St. Mary's was a poor hospital, a 'toff' wouldn't normally be admitted! They seemed to think better of arguing, though, each taking a corner.

Beth withdrew her hand, tears finally, silently spilling over.

Will took a corner himself and flashed a smile at Beth, though his blue eyes were bright with concern. "Don' worry. 'S all gonna be all roight."

Beth nodded wordlessly, unconvinced but grateful for the effort.

Sally put her arm around Beth's shoulders, giving her a comforting squeeze. "Can Beth go, John?" Although her tone really wasn't a request. "We'll be fine here, Mrs. Hudson sent Charlie and Paul to the Yard." She didn't care if a police presence at 221B wasn't in the story, it bloody well made _sense_ right now!

Watson looked Beth over closely, gauging her emotional state, then nodded, taking the last corner. "All right, gentlemen, on my mark."

As the four carefully raised the litter, Sally took her shawl off and put it around Beth, hugging her. "You give that big idiot our love when he wakes up," she said brightly, if huskily, "and a clip round the ear!" _Hold it together, hold it together..._

Beth hugged Sally tightly back, wishing her best friend could come with her. "Will do."

The gentleman who had checked Sherlock's heartbeat tipped his hat respectfully to Beth. "Good luck, ma'am."

Beth nodded to him, finding enough room in her heart even now to be touched by the kindness of a complete stranger. "Thank you." She noticed John's bag lying forgotten on the cobbles and picked it up, glad to have something to do en route.

The gentleman reluctantly moved on, although Beth noted that most of the bystanders remained where they were, talking in loud or hushed voices, staring at Sally or at the departing group. _So this is what it's like to be the hovercar crash everybody watches._

Sally shivered and hugged herself, waiting until the stretcher bearers had rounded the corner, barely resisting the temptation to follow, then covered her mouth as the first sob welled up and rushed back inside.

* * *

Watson had read many scathing articles in newspapers and medical journals regarding the conditions of poor hospitals, he'd even penned one or two himself: obsolete wards and equipment, overcrowding, and a desperate lack of staff and supplies which was only slightly alleviated by donations from the public. St. Mary's was no different, patients often waiting hours to be seen, while the new Clarence Memorial wing was _still_ standing empty since its construction four years ago! That same bureaucratic incompetence was also responsible for the barring of middle and upper class patients, but just as Sherlock Holmes had his methods for persuading the unwilling, so too did Dr. John H. Watson. In a very few minutes, the chief physician had reluctantly agreed to confirm Watson's diagnosis, and keep the detective apart from the other patients, as befitted an undercover government agent.

A semi-conscious Holmes was injected with morphine in a private room, stripped of his soiled clothes, washed, examined and his injuries treated, while Beth, fuming at being excluded, paced the corridor outside like a caged tiger. Finally, Watson put his head around the door, smiling. "Beth?"

Beth halted and whirled around, heart suddenly crashing in her throat. "How is he?!" It had been _torture_ waiting all this time!

"Awake, barely," Watson hastened to reassure her, "and just as anxious to see you. Doctor Taggart will let him stay overnight for observation, but he's in no immediate danger. Now, do please _try_ not to excite him?" Calm and quiet were essential just now, even for a patient with Holmes's wiry constitution.

She nodded, trying not to let her irritation show—as if she was going to go in there to upset him! "I won't, I won't."

"Five minutes, that's all," Watson said firmly as he moved aside.

She nodded again, biting her lip as she stepped into the room. Sherlock was bandaged up now, and she wasn't sure whether he actually looked _better_ or _worse_… Before, the gaslit streetlamps were not bright enough to reveal all the little details she could see now, all the sickening shades of blue and purple and _green and yellow_… When she opened her mouth to speak, there was a sudden lump in her throat, and her voice cracked. "Hi, honey."

"...Beth..." Holmes whispered hoarsely. Thank God... she really was all right! He made a concerted effort against the fog of morphine, managing to move one bandaged hand across the blanket towards her.

"Shh, shh…" She hurried to the bed, lightly laying her hand over his and smiling for his benefit. "It's okay, I'm here. And you should be going to sleep, I'm guessing."

Holmes started to shake his head, regretting it immediately. "Ohh... No, no, there's..." He must remember, he _must_... "Kitty... Tell Watson..."

She could have kicked herself—she knew the written story, she should have thought of Kitty and Johnson sooner! "Shhh, calm down, sweetheart, I told John I wouldn't get you excited." He'd probably be throwing her out of the room right now if he were here! "I'll make sure the Irregulars find Johnson and tell him to hide Kitty away, that they need to be on their guard, okay?"

He smiled faintly in thanks rather than nod, which quickly faded. "Such a fool... I didn't think he'd strike... so soon... 'm sorry, love." And after everything he'd said to her about being careful...

She shook her head, tears finally falling. "No, I should have had the boys following you… I knew…" She squeezed her eyes shut—she'd known the sequence of events, and she'd done _nothing_. "I _knew_," she whispered. "I'm sorry." She bowed her head. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Oh, Beth..." How he wished he could put his arms around her, but the best he could do just now was to stroke her fingers. "My brave girl... No, no... you did warn me... best you could. 'M glad the boys weren't there... or you... Too many... That ambush wasn't meant... for just me..." He faltered as the memory reintruded, hands clenching weakly, _so many hands, crashing in on him, filling his vision, robbing him of breath_... _Breathe, just breathe... they failed, you'll walk again, play the violin again, Watson promised you..._

She looked up in alarm at his quickened breathing, and lifted her free hand to his face, touching it gently. "Honey? Honey, it's okay, you're safe now, we all are." She cast her mind about for something to sing to call him down, and softly sang the first one that came to mind:

_You are my sunshine, my only sunshine  
You make me happy when skies are grey  
You'll never know, dear, how much I love you  
Please don't take my sunshine away_

His hands relaxed again as her voice reached him through the fog, smiling at her touch, it felt so nice... Beth was here... everything would be all right...

Crying silently, she kept humming until she was sure he was asleep, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek before she left.

* * *

Sally got a grip on herself long enough to lock the front door, bring Kathy down to the kitchen, and update Mrs. Hudson on what was going on, then escaped back up the hall and flopped onto the lower steps, face buried in her skirts. She could tell herself Sherlock would be all healed up in a few weeks all she wanted, but right now she just needed a damn good cry! She choked on the next sob at a banging noise coming from the direction of the kitchen, and a startled exclamation from Mrs. Hudson – someone at the back door! Adrenaline surging again, Sally snatched up the stake John had left on the hall table and glided as silently as she could in heeled boots towards the kitchen, ears pricked at the sound of Mrs. Hudson's sharply raised voice and one other _female_ voice, though she couldn't make out what either of them were saying...

"Sally, dear!" Mrs. Hudson sounded worried, but also... angry? bewildered?

Sally barged through the door and stared at the sight in front of her: Mrs. Hudson was standing protectively by Kathy's basket on the table, a frying pan hanging ready in one hand, and _Kitty_ was collapsed into Mrs. Hudson's favourite kitchen chair, white-faced, trembling, and dripping wet! She was also liberally plastered with what Sally could only assume was raw sewage, gagging at the stench filling the room. "Kitty?!" she managed to cough out. "My god, what happened?" Could this night get any crazier?

Kitty looked up, trying to blink back her tears. "Madame Watson… I am sorry for disturbing you… Porky and I… Eduárd attacked us, and… and…" She covered her mouth as a sob rose—of all the dangers she'd imagined, she had not so much as _considered_ Eduárd doing his own dirty work, he did it so rarely… and now…

"...oh no..." Sally's tears welled up again, transfixed with horror. "Oh, _Kitty_!" Poor Mr. Johnson... and now was really _not_ the moment to tell Kitty about Sherlock!

The doorbell rang, making all three women jump.

Sally groaned, raising her eyes despairingly to heaven. "Ohhh, you've _got_ to be joking, not _now_!" Of all the bad times for a policeman to be punctual!

Kitty shrank further into her chair, wondering if she should leave. "Who is that?"

"Scotland Yard, they're here about..." Sally realised with horror what she'd been about to blurt out; "um, something else." She hastily scrubbed the tears from her face with her sleeve. "Mrs. Hudson, they can't see Kitty, not like this!"

"Then I think, ladies," Mrs. Hudson smiled grimly, "that now would be a very good time for that hot water." Since Mr. Holmes wouldn't be needing it... "Miss Winter, please accompany Mrs. Watson to the scullery for the moment. I shall deal with the police."

"Thank you." Sally leaned over Kathy's basket and gave her a reassuring kiss. "Back in a minute, darling. Come on, honey, let's get you cleaned up." Thank God the scullery had a good stock of carbolic soap...

* * *

Mrs. Hudson took care to close the kitchen door behind her, sighing as she mentally reviewed what she would need to disinfect the kitchen and scullery once things were quieter.

The bell rang again, more urgently.

"Yes, yes, one moment!" Hastening down the hall, she unlocked the front door and opened it a crack, then wider on seeing Inspector Lestrade on the step, a pair of constables behind him. "Inspector, thank heaven!"

"Mrs. Hudson." Lestrade tipped his hat to her, outwardly calm despite the concern roiling in his gut. Sherlock Holmes had been badly injured several times before, but that never made any such incident any easier to deal with. "I came as soon as I could." Had the poor horses in a lather, in fact, despite the cold. "Where is Mr. Holmes now?"

"Doctor Watson thought it best to take him to St. Mary's..." She faltered for a moment, then gathered herself. "Won't you come in?"

Lestrade nodded. "Thank you, I will." He turned back around toward his men. "Stay here, look sharp—I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Yes, sir."

Stepping inside, Lestrade closed the door after him and removed his hat. "How bad is it?" The dear woman certainly looked stressed and scared, and that didn't bode well.

Mrs. Hudson couldn't quite manage a reassuring smile. "Not as bad as we feared, the worst injuries the doctor could find weren't life-threatening. I expect the dear man won't stay in hospital over long, in any case, you know how he is... although I'm sure he'll be a fetching shade of violet for a while!" Should she...? _Well, if you don't, the doctor will have to._ "It... it was a warning, Inspector." Her voice trembled despite her best efforts. "This new case..." The sobs began to well up, she couldn't stop them; "that _terrible_ man...!" If she ever got her hands on the ones who had done this to her boy...

The Inspector put his arms around her, professionalism be hanged; it would have been inhuman not to _try_ to give her some comfort. The blessed woman had nerves of steel, too—for her to be this upset… After a minute, he broke the silence gently: "What man, Mrs. Hudson? Who did this?"

She gulped for breath, fumbled in her pocket and fished out a handkerchief, blowing her nose. "Baron... oh, oh dear, I don't know, it... started with an 'M', I think? Something foreign... and Mr. Holmes was trying to stop him marrying a Miss Pemberton..."

Lestrade frowned, the details familiar. "Baron… Mehsarosh? I think? Hungarian nobleman?" And most likely the murderer of his late wife.

Sally, meanwhile, was itching to know what was going on at the front of the house. Leaving a hastily-scrubbed Kitty sitting by the fire in Mrs. Hudson's dressing gown, she and Kathy regarding each other curiously, she closed the kitchen door behind her and came down the hall in time to hear Lestrade. "Eduárd Mészáros, yes. Sherlock went to see him yesterday, got told to back off..." The quiet fury in her voice was faintly tinged with pride. "I'm sure we don't have to tell you how he took that."

Oh, good lord, Watson really had found his equal a second time, if the look in Sally Watson's eyes was anything to go by. "No, you don't," Lestrade grimaced. Sherlock Holmes never met a challenge in his life he would back down from. The inspector sighed. "I have to admit that I _had_ hoped Mr. Holmes would tangle with the Baron—the man's a murderer who escaped justice by the skin of his teeth!—but I never thought it would…" He frowned as an unpleasant odor made itself known, and he realised that the young woman's clothes were liberally splashed with water and flecks of soap. "Mrs. Watson, is something the matter? You… appear to be in a bit of disarray, if you'll pardon my saying so."

"What?" Sally blushed, realising she'd forgotten to put on an apron, and she didn't smell so good now, either. "Oh, right! Yes, the, uh, scullery drain backed up this morning, first chance I've had all day to scrub the floor." She shrugged helplessly, gaze falling to the floor. "You know how it is – times like this..."

Mrs. Hudson gave Sally a watery smile, patting her on the shoulder. "Oh, I know, dear... but you won't do the others any good by exhausting yourself. Now, come along and have a nice cup of tea. Will you join us, Inspector?" She was taking a risk in offering, but the waiting constables would almost certainly mean a refusal.

"Ah, no, thank you just the same, Mrs. Hudson." Tea sounded lovely right now to Lestrade, but there was work to be done. "I need to assign my men properly, and I should check in at the hospital before I go back to the Yard. Oh, has Mr. Mycroft been informed yet?"

"Oh!" Mrs. Hudson put a hand to her mouth; how could she have forgotten Mycroft at a time like this? "Dear me, I don't know! Not by us, I'm sorry to say, but the doctor or Mrs. Holmes may have sent word from St. Mary's. You'd best inquire when you see them."

Lestrade nodded. "Not to worry—I'll take care of it if they haven't. I'm sure he would understand." Straightening, he put his hat back on. "I'd best get back outside now, but there will be a guard here all night, and I'll check back with you in the morning." It was bad enough when Holmes and Watson put themselves in danger, and even worse when Mrs. Hudson was at risk alongside them, but 221B was also home now to two young women and a baby! Things were different now… "Goodnight, Mrs. Hudson, Mrs. Watson. Try to get some sleep."

"Thank you, Inspector," Sally said gratefully, albeit with a twinge of unease. They would probably have to work out how to explain Kitty's presence to the police at some point. Alien vampire or no, she'd be damned if the woman was leaving Baker Street again to fend for herself before this mess was sorted out!

Lestrade tipped his hat to her. "Just doing my duty, ma'am." He left the warmth of the house for the damp chill of the night—his constables were going to need a lot of coffee. "All right, you lot, listen up…"

* * *

While Beth was occupied, Watson collected Holmes's clothes, shaking his head over the stains and tears – one of Holmes's best shirts, and now it was barely fit for Mrs. Hudson's rag bag! Out of habit, he checked the pockets of Holmes's coat, and found what felt like a stiff piece of card in an inside pocket... but it wasn't a card, it was a photograph... and the picture made the hair rise on the back of Watson's neck: Beth, Sally and Kathy, getting out of the carriage at Whitehall... A white-hot rage surged through the doctor as he realised what it meant, hastily tucking it into his own pocket, resisting the strong urge to tear it into a thousand tiny pieces. He certainly wasn't going to show this to Beth or Holmes anytime soon, they had enough concerns at the moment!

Beth slowly, cautiously emerged from Sherlock's room and closed the door with equal care. John was still out in the hall, sorting through what looked like Sherlock's clothes in a pile. She hugged herself with one arm, wiping away the tears that wouldn't stop falling with her other hand. "He's—" her voice cracked, and she tried to clear her throat— "um, he's asleep now."

Watson's heart broke all over again at the anguish in Beth's face. He at once left what he was doing to meet her halfway and wordlessly hugged her, still shaking with anger. Beth buried her face in his shoulder, shaking herself from suppressed sobs. He just stood there and held her, blinking hard, grateful that she couldn't see his face. It wasn't difficult to deduce her thoughts, Watson had been blaming himself just as much for not being there to protect his friend... and telling himself anything to the contrary wasn't the least particle of use. It had also occurred to him on the way to the hospital how easily _Kathy_ could have healed her godfather, and knowing just how much the wee one could understand, she was probably longing to at this very moment... but even if the Doctor hadn't warned her parents of the price for doing so, Watson would still have hesitated. Too many people had seen Holmes's injuries for themselves, and the news of the attack would be spreading rapidly. As much as Watson hated the fact, Holmes could not be allowed to recover too early.

Safe in his embrace, Beth couldn't help finally crying in earnest, clinging to him. "Oh, John…" Sherlock was _so_ badly hurt and she didn't know what to do or how to help him feel better and she _should have known better_, no matter what Sherlock said, the boys could have helped him, they could do anything, she shouldn't have trusted to luck and now just look at the consequences...

"It's all right, Beth… brave girl..." He sat down with her, digging a handkerchief out of his waistcoat pocket once she was a little calmer. "You just wait till morning: he'll be terrorising every nurse in the place, bright and early."

She giggled past her sobs. "Oh my gosh…" She gratefully accepted the handkerchief and closed her eyes, breath hitching. "Oh, John, I _knew_," she murmured. "I knew that this was going to happen—I should have been with him. I should have sent the boys with him…"

Watson smothered a sigh. "Beth... didn't we have a conversation like this not so very long ago? About artistic license?" He understood, he really did, but... "You can't keep using those future narratives of mine as guides to the real cases, you'll drive yourself mad with second guessing!"

She glared past her tears. "_But it happened_. Thus far, John, you really didn't change very bloody much." _Whoa, calm down, he's not the enemy—I don't _want_ to calm down!_ "I'm not trying to second-guess—I'm _trying_ to avoid danger spots!" He didn't know, he had no _idea_… She gave a bitter laugh as she wiped away her tears with the handkerchief. "And it didn't even _work_."

"Mészáros was always going to have the upper hand there, Beth – there's no way you could have planned for every possibility. And I'm sure you can guess how much I hate to say it... but you still can't. Whatever you or Holmes may think of my stories, they were certainly never meant to be used as a crystal ball! When we return to Baker Street, I would strongly advise you to lock your precious collection away – oh yes, I've seen you trying to hide it – and never open it again. You're already walking a fine line between fiction and reality, and that book will only weigh you down."

Beth's cheeks burned at his stern tone, embarrassment followed closely by resentment. John might be her something-great-grandfather like Geoffrey, but he wasn't her father! She gave him back his handkerchief despite her vision still being a little blurry. "Easy enough for you to say, John—you never wrote one word about Sally." He had no idea what it was like to have that kind of foreknowledge.

She began to walk away, stopping short at the sight of Geoffrey Lestrade approaching. "Inspector!"

Lestrade touched his hat brim in salute. "Mrs. Holmes." He looked past her and nodded to Watson. "Doctor." He wished his timing had been better—he didn't need to be Sherlock Holmes to see that the two had been arguing. And there was something oddly familiar about the young woman's flushed features, angry and upset at the same time…

"Lestrade." Watson was no less surprised to see the Inspector, but very glad of it indeed. "Good of you to come."

"Not at all. Mrs. Hudson sent two of your boys down to the Yard to fetch me—there's a police guard around 221B now, and I have two more constables to stand guard here tonight." Lestrade glanced at the nearby closed door. "How is he?"

"Oh, he'll live, don't you worry. Two scalp wounds and considerable bruising, but a few weeks' rest will have him back to his old self –" Watson grinned wryly, "more's the pity." _And Beth is still hovering._ "Beth, the nurses' station has a tea urn, if you're thirsty."

Beth frowned in confusion. "I'm not…" _Oh_. Her cheeks flamed again. "Fine. Inspector, would you like some tea?"

Lestrade smiled slightly. "I wouldn't say no to a nice hot cup—it's cold out tonight."

She gave him a faint smile in return and nodded, doing her best not to stalk off. John could have just told her he wanted to talk with Geoffrey in private; he didn't have use a parental tactic to get that…

Lestrade moved closer to Watson and lowered his voice, despite waiting for the girl to be out of sight before he spoke. "Watson, you might want to come up with a new strategy for getting me alone: that one's scarcely less sharp than her husband, and I think she could match him for temper."

Watson sighed. "I know, that's the problem." He fished out the photograph. "Because if either of them saw this just yet... It was planted in Holmes's pocket. You were right to post a guard."

Lestrade's eyes widened as he recognised Whitehall. "Good God." A palpable threat against the three girls in that picture… and one of them was a _baby_… After a long moment, he looked back up at the other man. "John," he said seriously and calmly, belying a fury akin to what Watson must have felt, "I want you to tell me everything you can about this case. It was all very well and good before for the two of you to run around at the edge of the law and not tell us what you were doing, but it's not just the two of you now, and I can't turn a blind eye any longer."

Watson grimaced – 'everything he could' wasn't all that much! "I understand... though I should probably be palming you off on Mycroft for the official story... Oh God, _Mycroft_! I never thought..."

"Now, don't you go kicking yourself, Doctor, you've had enough on your mind as it is! I'll contact him when I go back to the Yard."

"Thank you, that's very kind." Watson sagged wearily, far more relieved about Lestrade's offer than he had any right to feel. He would still eventually have to explain to Mycroft what had happened – and that he, Holmes's closest friend, hadn't been there at the crucial moment... just like the last time...

Lestrade nodded. Poor Watson—he looked just about done in… but Lestrade had to know what was going on. "Now then… you were saying?"

Watson sighed, massaging his temples. "Well, you tell me what you already know, Lestrade, and I'll do my best to fill in the gaps."

* * *

Since she was officially 'kicked out' anyway, Beth made a detour before getting tea for Geoffrey. Will hadn't had any news yet of Sherlock, and she was sure he was fretting. She found him draped over a chair in the waiting room, looking absolutely beat, the poor boy. "Will?"

He looked up eagerly, scrambling up from his chair. "'Ow's the guv'nor?"

Beth motioned him over to an empty corner—there were other people in the room—and took a shaky breath. "Two scalp wounds," she whispered, "and a crap-ton of bruises, but… Dr. Watson says he'll be fine in a few weeks." She smiled weakly past tears that decided to make themselves known again. "He looks like a mummy right now, all wrapped up."

Will chuckled in relief. "Told yew 'e'd be all right, din' I? Can we see 'im?"

Beth winced guiltily. "I'm sorry, Will—I've already been in, just for a couple of minutes, and I had to make sure he got to sleep. He was starting to fret, and that's definitely not good for him right now."

Will nodded reluctantly, and Beth wished now that she'd kept him with her and taken him in to see Sherlock. It had barely been a month since Frozen Time, or at least it felt like it, and she knew that the Irregulars were still re-adjusting to everyday life and to having their surrogate fathers back. To have Sherlock in this much trouble again had to be hard for Will to deal with.

"Yeah, s'pose not," he said. "Saw the Inspector come in just now, all well at 'ome?"

"Mrs. Hudson sent for him; apparently, we've got a guard now around the house, which, I have to admit, makes me feel a tiny bit better." She snapped her fingers. "Oh, but, Will! We need to find Shinwell Johnson and Kitty Winter and warn them! Kitty needs to go deep into hiding, and they both need to watch their backs."

Will's sea blue eyes widened. "Right." He hesitated, then, haltingly: "'Ere, Beth… that Kitty, she looks awful like the lady 'oo was after the submarine plans Oberstein nicked."

Blushing, Beth bit her lip. "Oh, Will, I'm so sorry... I meant to tell you, and with everything that's been going on, I forgot… That's… that's exactly who she is." At his wordless stare, she held up a hand. "It's a _long_ and complicated story, which I _promise_ I will tell you as soon as I get a good chance. The short take is that, yes, she's an alien; Moriarty was using her; the Baron was using her before that; and, all around… I think she's had a very rough life. I never thought I'd say this—" seriously, who'd'a thunk it?!— "but I feel sorry for her."

"Blimey!" he said quietly. "Right then, I'll, er, go round up the lads."

"Wait, wait." He paused, and she drew him into a hug. Will, more than anyone else she'd ever known, had taught her the meaning of 'the family you choose,' and she couldn't have asked for a better brother. The downside, of course, was having to worry about him. "Please be careful."

He hugged her back. "'Course. Yew an' the doctor get some kip, yeah? Ain't no one goin' t'bother yew 'ere tonight."

She smiled faintly—they both knew she was going to be lucky if she managed to sleep at all, but she also knew he felt duty-bound to say it. "I'll try."


	7. Keep Marching On

**==Chapter 7==**

**Keep Marching On**

_We are all a people in need.  
__We are not perfect. We are not machines.  
__We make mistakes.  
__We need grace. We need compassion.  
__We need help at times.  
__We need other people.  
__And that's okay._

-Jamie Tworkowski, If You Feel Too Much: Thoughts on Things Found and Lost and Hoped For

Just as Watson had predicted, Holmes was awake early the next morning, and tormenting the staff. The doctor could only sympathise, however; his friend was having to bear a great deal more pain than he might have in other circumstances, since Watson certainly wasn't about to let a recovering drug addict have any more morphine than strictly necessary! First Holmes's bed was too hard, then being lifted out of bed to use the bedpan was too humiliating; he refused point blank to have a sponge bath because he wasn't 'staying in this disgusting petrie dish of disease an hour longer'; he wouldn't even eat any breakfast because the mere smell of the hospital food made him feel ill. Thus Watson had no trouble convincing Dr. Taggart to let them have an ambulance to get the patient home, while Beth convinced Holmes to lie still and quiet as the orderlies carried him out on a stretcher, looking for all the world as if he were at death's door – perfect fodder for the gossip mongers.

Beth asked Watson despairingly at one point how he'd dealt with her husband as a patient all these years. "Bribery and threats, mostly," Watson answered cheerfully, and only half-joking. "He does have a genuine phobia for hospitals, though, poor fellow. I hated to do this to him, but it did seem for the best. He'll be a lot more manageable once we get him home."

* * *

A hush seemed to fall over Baker Street as the ambulance stopped outside 221B. Crowds had formed, and people were craning their necks to get a glimpse of the still, deathly-pale figure carried out on the stretcher, past the constables on sentry duty and into the house. Mrs. Hudson didn't even have to fake a horrified expression when she opened the door, 'supported' by Sally.

Beth followed the orderlies, unsteady on her feet, clutching Sally's shawl tightly around her as if it could shield her from all the eager eyes. She didn't have to fake being upset, either, or looking like she'd spent a mostly sleepless night. As soon as she was safely in the house, she all but fell into Sally's arms.

Sally hugged her tightly, a lump in her throat. "Hey, welcome back." She had so much to tell them all, and none of it pleasant...

Beth leaned against her for a moment longer, then straightened, removing the shawl and giving it back to Sally. "Thanks for this." It hadn't kept her _warm_, per se, but it'd been better than nothing. She glanced over her shoulder and winced as the men painstakingly navigated the turn in the staircase.

"You're very welcome, honey." Sally turned to her husband as he brought up the rear with his Gladstone, frowning in concern at how tired _he_ looked. "Oh, John..."

Setting down his bag, Watson returned his wife's embrace gladly and kissed her. "Are you girls all right?"

"...I guess?"

Well, _that_ didn't bode well. "Sally?" He pulled back to look at her. "What's happened?"

Mrs. Hudson shut the door, coming up behind him. "Nothing we couldn't cope with, Doctor. Let's get Mr. Holmes settled comfortably before swapping stories, shall we?" She lowered her voice so the orderlies wouldn't hear. "That _is_ just an act of his, isn't it?"

Beth nodded, hugging herself.

"He's still in a bad way," Watson murmured, "make no mistake, but… he was also the terror of the hospital this morning." He shrugged with his eyebrows, knowing that Mrs. Hudson could have told the hospital her own batch of horror tales in that regard.

Sally coughed to hide a giggle. "I wish I'd seen that."

Beth was in no mood to smile, however, and drifted away from the others over to the staircase. She heard too many grunts and muttered curses for her liking, and she hurried up after the orderlies. She didn't think she could bear the irony if Sherlock had survived everything thus far only to be badly hurt again on the stupid stairs…

* * *

Still feigning unconsciousness, Holmes was put to bed in his room. Watson promised the orderlies that the hospital gown would be laundered and returned soon, and gave them a generous tip for their many troubles. Once Mrs. Hudson had escorted them out, Watson poked his head around the bedroom door. "All right, Holmes, you can stop bluffing the Grim Reaper. He's got enough ugly customers to collect as it is."

"Who was bluffing?" Holmes croaked sulkily. "Those wretched litter-bearers nearly lost me downstairs a dozen times!" But at least he was finally back _home_, there was simply no substitute for one's own bed.

"Oh, Sherlock!" Unable to wait any longer, Sally came forward and hugged the detective carefully, swallowing hard. That seemed to take the wind right out of Sherlock's sails; Sally smiled shakily as the detective lifted a bandaged hand and awkwardly patted her shoulder. She sat back with a sniff, wiping her eyes. "Hey... don't scare us like that again, okay? You even had the Inspector worried sick! Yeah, that's right –" she added as Sherlock blinked in surprise, "those 'plodding Yarders' only dropped everything to keep all of us safe last night! And Lestrade's checking back in this morning, not sure when..." She drew a deep breath. "So there's... something you three _really_ need to know before he gets here."

Frowning, Beth settled on the opposite side of the bed. "What's wrong?" Sally looked rattled, and that was never a good sign. "What happened?"

Sally met Holmes's anxious gaze with difficulty. "Sherlock... I'm so sorry... but you weren't the only one attacked last night. Mr. Johnson and Kitty were, too... by the Baron."

Holmes lay frozen with horror, fingers digging like claws into the bedspread. No... dear God, _no_, _not_ _that_... and Adelaide wouldn't even have had time to tell her fiancé about Kitty, how long had Mészáros's spies been watching _this_ house?!

Beth suddenly felt very, very cold. She'd known that Johnson and Kitty would be in danger, because of the written story and also common sense, and Sally probably had known that, too, for the same reasons... But her halting, quiet tone... and the sadness in her amber eyes... _No, no, no, oh please, no_... "Sally?" Beth's own voice was trembling. "...who died?"

Sally exhaled shakily, bizarrely grateful for the lead-in. "Mr. Johnson." Beth covered her mouth, looking sick. "Kitty escaped, got here just after you left for the hospital; she's still here." The back of the house still smelled faintly of sewage, they hadn't dared to leave any windows open last night...

"Oh, thank heaven," Watson murmured, focusing on the one ray of hope in this darkness. Recollecting himself, he looked at Holmes… and didn't like what he saw at all. The detective's face was positively ashen beneath the bruises, his breathing shallow. "Sally, fetch my bag, it's on the hall table." He took Holmes's wrist, and the other man tried to wrench it out of his grasp, flailing as he struggled to sit up and throw off the blankets but not getting far.

Alarmed, Beth leaned in, putting her hand on his free arm. "Sherlock!"

"I must see her!" He'd known, he'd _known_ what could happen, thrice-cursed _fool_, he never should have dragged Kitty back into this...

Watson maintained his grip on his friend's wrist. "Holmes, you set one foot out of bed…"

"For the love of God, Watson...!"

"_Mister Holmes!_" Mrs. Hudson's voice came sharply from the doorway, making everyone jump. The landlady swept into the room, expression twice as stern and disapproving as any caricature of Queen Victoria. "Return to your bed _this instant!_"

Sobered, and more than a little intimidated, Holmes meekly lay back down without another word, letting Watson take his pulse while Beth straightened the bedclothes.

"Now," Mrs. Hudson went on, in a fractionally softer voice, "I am sure Miss Winter would appreciate your concern, but she has taken no hurt – heaven be praised – and is currently asleep." The poor girl had fallen into bed after her harrowing evening, mercifully failing to question the trio's collective absence. "Visiting hours are for _Mrs._ Holmes and Dr. Watson to decide, in any case."

Beth glared at her husband, her heart still thumping wildly from that little stunt. "Oh, he's not going anywhere right now, for sure."

Holmes reddened, avoiding eye contact. As if it hadn't been bad enough with two people nagging at him in the past when he was ill, now he had twice that!

And now the youngest member of the house was starting to wail upstairs, just as Sally came back with the medical bag. Her mother sighed, muttering, "Never going to be easy having a telepathic child in the house... If you'll all excuse me..." She gave Beth's shoulder a squeeze and left the room, trying not to think dark thoughts in Sherlock's direction.

Watson tsked, not appreciating Holmes's attitude no matter how much he understood it, and doubly annoyed by the needless commotion interrupting his daughter's nap. He released Holmes's wrist and returned his arm gently but firmly beneath the blanket. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson." He smiled faintly at the dear woman. "Might the three of us trouble you for a late breakfast, when you have a moment? I'm afraid the fare at St. Mary's was well up to its usual standard."

"Oh, you poor dears!" Mrs. Hudson shook her head with tongue-in-cheek solicitude as she left the room, smiling. "I'll see what I can do."

"Mrs. Hudson, you're the best!" Beth called after her. She lowered herself to the mattress, sighing at the feeling of a comfortable bed beneath her, and too exhausted to really think about Sally's news. That could wait for later, when she had more energy to be upset. Then a little detail occurred to her. "Oh dammit," she murmured, "I sent Will out last night—I wonder what he found out."

"I'll see to that, Beth," Watson said softly, finding an extra blanket and draping it over her. The poor girl looked entirely done-in.

Beth smiled gratefully, feeling guilty now for having blown up at him the night before. "Thanks."

"Not at all." Watson drew the curtains and turned the gaslight down. "Get some sleep, if you can. Breakfast can always become lunch." Beth nodded drowsily, and Holmes began to look hopeful. "Not yours, Holmes," Watson warned.

Holmes grimaced, knowing full well it would be porridge; but at least Mrs. Hudson's was an improvement on St. Mary's. "Cream _and_ honey?"

"We'll see." Watson arched his eyebrows meaningfully. "I don't know how generous Mrs. Hudson might be feeling this morning."

Holmes hesitated, uncomfortably aware that his recent behaviour hadn't exactly warranted the royal treatment.

Beth smiled in sympathy and gently took his hand, stroking it. "Aw." She glanced at John. "We could take it easy on him, just this once." Sherlock had certainly been through enough already!

Holmes smiled apologetically back at Beth, then at Watson. "Please?"

Watson tried and failed to suppress a chuckle, glad to see how much good Beth's presence was already doing her husband. Holmes would have continued to be much more difficult to manage otherwise. "Very well. Porridge with cream and honey... and a cup of valerian tea."

Sherlock groaned dramatically, trying to sink further under the covers, and Beth's shoulders shook as she laughed silently. "Oh, you'll live." She leaned over and lightly kissed his cheek.

Holmes's smile widened at his wife's kiss, returning it. "I'm not so sure..." he said innocently. "In fact, Watson, I do believe I shall be lucky to live the week out." At Watson's puzzled look, he went on, "I mean we must exaggerate my injuries for the sake of the press. The dear Baron will be anxious for news, and I am loath to disappoint him. Lay it on thick: concussion, delirium, what you like! You can't overdo it."

"I see." Watson resolved to show Holmes the photograph as soon as he judged it was safe to do so, definitely not while Beth was around.

"Drama queen," Beth muttered, and then frowned. "Oh." She started to rise from the bed. "Should I be doing any of this? Giving a statement or anything?" She was Sherlock's wife, after all!

Watson shook his head firmly, hiding his pang of alarm. "I hate to sound patriarchal, Beth, but it would be unusual even under normal circumstances—and the very last thing we need is your name appearing in the papers in connection with the case!" The Baron would like nothing better than to be given an excuse to lash out at her, Watson was sure!

Beth's frown deepened, confused. "Why, exactly? Why would that be a bad thing?" Surely that would only be natural!

"Because, _cherie_, assuming Mészáros doesn't yet consider you a threat, I would prefer not to give him any overt reason to do so. Watson's quite right: discretion is still the better part of valour, for the moment." Then Holmes's eyes narrowed as he saw the relief in Watson's face – what did the doctor know that he didn't?

"Oh." Beth sighed and lowered herself again, not exactly disappointed to not have to get back up just yet. "All right."

Watson had to smother a yawn at the sight of Beth doing what he would dearly love to do. _Time enough for that later, soldier, no rest for the wicked_… "Well, I'd best go find the boys."

Holmes caught Watson's eye as he turned to leave the room, arching a silent eyebrow: _We're talking about this later_. "Thank you, Watson."

Watson nodded casually, concealing his sinking feeling—he was not going to enjoy that conversation at all, _especially_ not after the little show Holmes had already put on over Sally's news—and closed the door behind him.

* * *

Holmes gratefully let his aching head sink deeper into the soft pillow with a sigh – he would be glad of that tea when it arrived, even if it did taste revolting. Why had he given up the needle again?

Beth carefully scooted closer to him. "It's nice to be home again," she said softly.

"Mm. I now detest hospital beds more than ever..." His hand found hers. "They're not wide enough."

She smiled fondly, stroking his hand gently rather than squeezing it like she usually did. "...I understand better now why people hate hospitals." Her smile turned rueful. "You grow up with a different perspective on them when most of your visits are to the maternity ward." _And when you couldn't wait to go see your new baby brother or sister_…

"Temples of cleanliness by comparison, I presume?" Holmes sighed. "Poor Watson." He hadn't considered before how much of a wrench it must have been for the doctor, returning to the substandard medical practices of the present – and all Watson could openly do was to try to set the best possible example for hygiene.

"Mm-hmm…" That had to be so hard… "I wish we could have taken you to a better hospital… one from my time…"

Holmes was tempted to say 'Maybe next time', but suspected she wouldn't appreciate that. "It _was_ better, love," he murmured instead. "You were there." Beth holding his hand, singing to him as he fell asleep, had been indescribably comforting.

"Aww." She leaned up and gave him another light kiss, then sighed. "I can't wait until the bruises heal." She wanted to be able to kiss and cuddle without worrying about hurting him!

He smiled ruefully. "It'll probably be spring before I'm respectable enough to appear in public again –except perhaps as a black-and-blue minstrel."

She rolled her eyes. "Drama queen." Her eyelids fluttered of their own accord, and she yawned. "Sweetie, are you gonna be okay if I pass out?"

Holmes nodded, trying to ignore the sudden pang of envy. "I'll be fine, love. Watson will be back any minute." It was his turn to watch over her, it seemed... _Because you've done such a brilliant job of _that_ so far, haven't you? Keeping everyone safe..._

Her heart sank. She knew _that_ look—she'd seen it often enough in Europe. "Sherlock," she said gently, "look at me." She gingerly cradled his face in both hands, her heart breaking at the sadness in his eyes. "What Mészáros did is _not_ your fault. Not yours… and not mine. He chose to murder, we didn't make him choose that. What he does is on him and him only."

There was a lump in his throat, he could hardly meet her gaze. "If Mycroft didn't want the fiend alive, Beth, I swear to God..."

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no." She smiled mirthlessly, lowering her hands. "_I'm_ the one who said that if anything happened to you, he'd be deader than undead. And, sweetheart, I don't much care about what Mycroft says right now. I'd go to Vienna if I had to, and get on my hands and knees to beg for forgiveness." She gave a despairing laugh, not sure whether or not she meant it but not really caring right now. "Because I am going to _kill_ him."

Holmes frowned, Beth's echo of his own carelessly-chosen words rudely bringing other considerations to mind. "Beth... God help me," he sighed, "I am going to break one of my most sacred rules. I know you have never met Adelaide Pemberton... but from what you know of her fictional counterpart... what do you think murdering the man she loves would do to her? If it should happen that we were unable to convince her of his true character?" There was always that possibility, whatever evidence they could lay before her.

"She'll get over it." Beth didn't like how cool her voice sounded, but that was nothing compared to the heat rising inside her. "Whatever she feels for Mészáros can't be love, anyway, not properly—" how could you really love someone if you weren't loving the real version of them, and the real version was a monster?— "and even if it was, it's not worth anybody's _life_."

He flinched involuntarily, Beth's words like a slap in the face. "...and I would have said the same to you once in Switzerland." _"Because I have already done so much to hurt you... and I will not ruin you as well."_

It was her turn to flinch. "That is not remotely the same!"

"You seem to have forgotten, Beth: Miss Pemberton and the General are also my clients, as much as Mycroft. Neither of them is to blame for whatever the young lady feels, but they will both still suffer enough for it! Part of my duty – and God knows how I _hate_ using that word for this case! – is to ensure that Miss Pemberton is handled with as much care and consideration as possible, so that Watson won't have to edit out of his narrative a hysterical bride-to-be throwing herself off a bridge!"

She wanted to say "I don't care," and stopped herself, aware of how ugly that would sound. _A bridge… that would do… STOP it._ _...I can't even think of a single thing to say that _wouldn't_ sound ugly_. She didn't want to be unsympathetic towards Adelaide Pemberton, but at the same time, look at what her fiance had already done to stop them! Sparing her feelings wasn't more important than saving the lives that Mészáros was threatening…

She sat up, looking away to hide the tears that were suddenly and very inconveniently falling again. "Okay, yeah." She rose from the bed. "I, uh… I need to… Sorry…" She hurried out of the room into the hall, trying to wipe her tears away—she didn't want to fall apart on top of Sherlock when he needed to be resting.

It was only as Beth left the room that Holmes realised with alarm that his wife wasn't just going to the water closet or similar – she wasn't planning on coming back at all. "Beth, wait. Don't..." _Well _done_, old man, Beth is just as upset as you, was this really the moment to read her a lecture?_ He let his head fall back onto the pillow with a noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan. "Bravo, Holmes."

* * *

From the floor above came a short series of thuds, and Beth, snapped out of her tears for a moment, ran up to investigate. "Sally? You okay?"

"Yeah, fine –" Sally's voice came back through the door, sounding resigned; "just clumsy. It's okay, come in."

Hurriedly wiping her face, Beth entered the other bedroom and saw that books had toppled onto the floor. "Here, I can pick those up."

"Thanks." Sally looked up from the fussing, squirming baby in her arms, smile vanishing. "Oh... oh, honey!" She hurried over. "No, no, leave those, you don't have to..."

Beth shook her head, grateful to have something to _do_. "It's okay, really!" She picked the books up and put them back on the little bookshelf, and turned to give Sally a watery smile. "It's okay."

Sally lifted Kathy back up to her napkin-draped shoulder, patting her gently on the back. "...Really?" Stupid question, really, Beth was obviously anything _but_ okay.

Beth's face crumpled for a moment before she could pull herself back together. "I mean… no… but apparently I can't do anything about it." She hugged herself. "Apparently, I shouldn't be torturing myself with... That Book, and I definitely can't off Gruner—" She stopped herself with a small huff of laughter. "I was wondering how long I was going to keep from slipping up on that."

"Is... that what you and Sherlock were arguing about, the book?" Sherlock finding out about Beth's collection would certainly explain the raised voices just now.

Biting her lip, Beth looked down at her feet as she leaned against the wall. "No," she said quietly, "_that_ was about offing or not offing Mészáros." Her tone grew quieter still as she blushed. "The book… that was John and I, last night. I was upset and talking about how I knew this was going to happen and I couldn't even stop it—" she looked up for a moment, guilt flooding her again— "Sally, even trying to, I couldn't stop it! And John said I should lock the book away… I know," she added quickly, "he's just trying to help, but…" She gave a despairing laugh. "It wouldn't even matter if I did; I have most of those stories memorized…"

Sally blinked, unsure what to react to first, and in the end just sat down on the bed, patting the space beside her invitingly.

Beth joined her and had to resist the temptation to lean against Sally when she was already holding the baby. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I seem to have a horrible habit of... of... dumping stuff, emotions. Especially on you."

Sally shook her head, shifting Kathy to her lap and putting her arm around Beth. "Sweetie, if it was John who wound up in hospital, I don't know what the hell _I'd_ be doing! That bastard's got so much coming to him... I just wish I believed in karma, I could use a good laugh right now!"

Beth gave a rueful laugh and rested her head on Sally's shoulder. "I know… Sal, I don't know what to do." She shivered. "I slept just long enough last night to have another Moran dream—although this time he was hurting Sherlock. Sherlock was talking just now about how he didn't want a hysterical almost-bride to throw herself off a bridge—because of, like, me staking Mészáros or something like that—and my first thought was that I didn't even care. Which is a _horrible_ thing to think…" Her voice went very, very small in shame. "But I still do. And then my second thought was: a bridge sounds _really_ good right about now. And I don't know if I really mean it or not, but... everything is so, _so_ bad right now, and there isn't a reset button we can hit this time."

Sally rested her head against Beth's, heart breaking at the anguish in her friend's voice. "Beth... I don't know if John's right about the book or not... and I haven't got the faintest clue what's going to happen next... but I'll tell you what I believe... Even if we get a completely different ending to how John writes it, we're still. Going. To win."

"I want to believe that. I do believe that… sometimes." And it helped to hear Sally say it out loud… but… "I'm scared, Sally. I'm really scared." Of what could happen to Sherlock before this case was over, of the fact that he _could_ get hurt like this again… Scared that she was never going to be much more than useless and helpless, all things considered… scared that things were never going to get much better than they were now, a yo-yo between good times and very bad ones…

Sally hugged her tighter. "I know, honey." And she didn't want to say in front of the baby just how scared she was feeling right now, although she was sure Kathy could sense it if she had a mind to... Just then Kathy squawked in protest, her mother's other arm having unconsciously tightened as well.

Beth had to giggle—Kathy was always able to lift her spirits no matter how depressed she got—and raised her free hand to stroke the baby's soft hair. "Calm down, kiddo."

"Ba!" Kathy chirped, clutching at Beth's arm.

"Oh, have you missed your aunty?" Sally smiled. "No, darling, Aunty Beth's very tired." She gently freed Beth's sleeve from Kathy's grip, kissing her fingers. "You can have cuddles later." She laid Kathy in the middle of the bed and fetched changing supplies.

Kathy grunted, making a determined effort to roll in Beth's direction, but couldn't quite tip herself over.

"D'awww." Beth flopped backward on the mattress and scooted over to Kathy. "But Aunty never could resist a cute baby." She kissed Kathy's forehead. "No, she couldn't."

Kathy gurgled, beaming, and Sally chuckled. "Well, if Aunty can get the cute baby to lie still long enough... You know, I'm _so_ tempted to add disposable nappies to the list along with the painkillers?" She hated cloth napkins: the scraping, scrubbing, boiling, ironing, folding, and wrestling with the oversized safety pins most of all, she stabbed herself at least twice a week.

Beth played with Kathy's hands to keep them out of Sally's way. "Hon, at this point, I am ready to smuggle in just about anything short of a TV." She smirked tiredly. "And even then, I'm tempted." Watching stuff on her phone was just… not the same.

Sally quirked an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. And wait another fifty, sixty years for the rabbit ears to be invented – sounds like a plan."

Beth stuck out her tongue and snuggled closer to the baby. "How dare you mock me when I'm too weak to throw a pillow at you."

"Cos it's the only time I'll get away with it?" Sally asked innocently, redressing Kathy. She tidied up and came back to the bed, tossing Beth one of the pillows and snuggling up on the baby's other side with another. Ohh, that felt nice... _Nuh-uh, don't fall asleep, you've got stuff to do..._

Beth put the pillow underneath her head and sighed, feeling less and less like getting back up. "You know… I don't miss the vast majority of stuff from Frozen Time… But I do miss _this_… just… you know…" The quiet, the snuggling, the confiding in each other… it had been really nice, and they'd had very few moments like this since she and the boys had left Rosewood to rescue Sherlock and John.

Sally smiled, lowering her voice as Beth's eyelids fluttered. "Yeah... we definitely gotta do this more often."

Beth hummed in agreement—it was so… nice… She blinked, realising she was falling asleep. "Oh. I should… probably…"

"It's okay." Sally laid her hand reassuringly over Beth's, Kathy in the middle preventing her from giving a proper hug. "S'nice and quiet up here..."

Beth relaxed, relieved, and squeezed the other girl's hand lightly. "Love you, Sally…"

"Love you, too..."

* * *

(Scene rating: L)

Watson returned to Holmes's bedroom with a tray, opening the door as quietly as possible. "Here you are, old man," he said softly—and halted in surprise. "Where's Beth?" He had thought she would be asleep by now, but she wasn't in the room at all!

Holmes shifted uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact. "With Sally and Kathy, I believe. I heard her go upstairs a few minutes ago, and no one's come down yet."

Watson raised an eyebrow. What on earth could those two have said to each other that would cause Beth to leave her husband like this, and with her so tired? _Better not to comment just yet_. He set the tray down on the bed. "Well, here we are, porridge with cream and honey—" the detective brightened— "and valerian tea." And then made a face. "And, yes, you do need to drink it all."

Holmes sighed. "The tea first, then." Best to get it over with.

Watson nodded smilingly. "The tea first." He gently helped Holmes to a sitting position against the pillows, then gave him the cup.

Holmes grasped it gingerly in his bandaged hands, nose wrinkling at the smell. Then it occurred to him that Watson probably wasn't going to breathe a word of what they had to talk about until he was finished, and he began to gulp the tea down as fast as the temperature would allow.

"Holmes, for goodness' sake!" Watson folded his arms over his chest. "Slow down or you'll hurt yourself." Holmes eyed the doctor sourly, but did as he was bid. Watson sighed. "Patience, Holmes. How are you feeling?—and no cracks about the tea, please."

_I think you can drop the brave show just now, old man, Beth's not here._ "Honestly?" the detective answered miserably. "I feel as if I'd been run over by an omnibus, horses and all. Oh, and one of them's still dancing a hornpipe on my skull."

Watson grimaced, wishing there was more he could do about that. "Oh, Holmes… What _happened_?"

Holmes took another sip. "Which part? The ambush, or calling on Miss Pemberton?" Smiling mirthlessly, "The foeman's steel completely surpassed mine in either case."

_Poor Holmes_… "Why don't you tell me about the interview with Miss Pemberton first?"

"Well, she knew what I had come for, of course. That villain has lost no time in poisoning her mind against me. She _was_ surprised by Kitty's being there, and just for a minute, Watson, I thought we might actually have a chance... But although what Kitty said to her did shake her composure, noticeably, it wasn't enough. She cannot believe... She cannot _let_ herself believe that the man she loves would betray her." The detective frowned deeply at the memory of the fanatical light shining in Adelaide Pemberton's eyes. "Watson, I fear that if we do not weaken whatever hold Mészáros has over Miss Pemberton, that she might not even care if we showed her every journal in his collection... as long as she believed herself to be the last."

Watson frowned deeply, a shiver crawling down his spine at the idea. "I hope… I hope that, this once, you're wrong." He heaved a sigh, both wanting and not wanting to know: "What happened next?"

"The three of us took our leave. We discussed our next move on the way back, and Johnson..." Holmes braced himself, continuing quietly, "Johnson offered to inquire among his contacts whether Mészáros had had any new security measures installed since Kitty was there last. We parted ways somewhere in Fitzrovia..." The detective's hands tightened on the tea cup. His mind was still vainly chasing itself in circles, trying to work out what he could have done differently to protect both Johnson and Kitty... and he would never know whether Kitty being with Johnson had made it more or less likely the man would be overpowered.

Watson laid a calming hand over Holmes's. "And?" he prompted gently.

"And... after setting off again, I was too preoccupied to notice at the crucial moment that the carriage had taken a wrong turning, into a private mews. I looked up too late, just as a pair of gates were closed and locked behind us. Well, I say 'us'... the driver must have been one of them, though I never saw his face in the pack. They rushed the carriage on both sides, and I had only my cane and the one revolver... but I honestly think that if I had used the gun, Watson, it would have been the death of me." Those thugs had been out to injure, not kill, but killing any of them would have changed the rules, whatever their employer had ordered.

Another chill slithered down Watson's spine. "Oh, _Holmes_…" His poor, poor friend… Rage flooded him for a moment, white-hot. "That _damned_ Baron. I should dearly like to thrash the hide off him." Vampire or not!

"Good old Watson," Holmes murmured, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He didn't doubt for a moment that Watson would do so if he gave the word. "Patience, my dear fellow. We _will_ have him yet." He just wished he had any idea of how...

Watson remembered the photograph then. "We rather need to at this point, Holmes," he said quietly, drawing the photograph from his coat pocket and offering it. "When I was going through your clothes last night, I found this in your pocket."

Holmes's eyes widened, snatching the photograph out of Watson's hand... then almost bent it in half as his fingers clenched, eyes blazing. "'Let you and yours go your way'..." he whispered hoarsely. "The devil had this taken... _before I even took the_ _case_..."

Watson held up a hand, forestalling the impending rant. "I hate to cut you off, Holmes, but perhaps you should think twice before destroying a potential piece of evidence?" He nodded at the photography, already folded to an alarming degree.

"...oh." Holmes let Watson take the picture from him and tuck it into his notebook. "Yes, of course, quite right..." Then he pounded his fist onto the mattress in returning fury. "But God _damn_ it, Watson, how _dare_ he?!"

"I know," Watson said grimly, fingers flexing with his own frustration. "He must have realised that, once he engaged himself to Miss Pemberton, you would be called in—I only wish I knew how long that bastard has been watching us." That the girls had presumably been watched and followed to Whitehall still chilled him to the core.

"Not nearly long enough," Holmes growled, "if he thinks for one _nano-second_..."

"Tsk-tsk." The two men looked up, wide-eyed, to see Sally leaning against the doorframe, holding Kathy. "Hope you don't use that kind of language around Lestrade—or your brother."

Holmes ignored that, looking past the woman anxiously. "Has Beth come down?"

"She passed out upstairs. And if you two wake her up again, the Baron won't need to off you—I'll do it for him." Sally turned to a sheepish-looking John. "He's had us watched?" _Please don't lie to me, honey, that won't help._

Watson sighed. _You were going to have to tell her anyway, old man_—but he was beginning to understand why Holmes preferred to keep things so close to the chest! He opened his notebook and gave the photo to Sally.

"...Oh _shit_." Sally's eyes went round, suddenly feeling horribly cold. "Sherlock..." then blinked, shaking her head as she realised what she'd almost said. "Sherlock, whatever Mycroft says... _No_, sweetie, Daddy needs that back!" She rescued the photo from Kathy's grabbing hands and mouth. "The Baron might not leave us with a choice—in letting him live, I mean." And _why_ was _Kathy_ in the picture?! Was her daughter just in the wrong place at the wrong time, or... was she included in the warning?

Holmes sighed heavily. "I know... but, God help us, we have to do what we can."

Sally nodded reluctantly. "Yeah... I guess I can live with that..." So long as staking the son-of-a-bitch _was_ an option... She caught herself looking anxiously back up the stairs. How on earth were they were going to break the news to Beth?

Watson sighed again, following his wife's train of thought—if only he could have shown both girls at once! Sally could keep Beth calm, he'd noticed, to a degree that no one else could manage.

The doorbell rang. "Oh. That'll be the Inspector, I'll let him in."

"No!" Sally jumped at Holmes's outburst. "You _think_ it's Lestrade," the detective told her sternly. "Check from the sitting room window." They just couldn't afford to carelessly open the door to all and sundry any more.

Sally blinked, but didn't argue, giving Kathy to John. "Looks like we need a spy hole installed," she said over her shoulder as she left the room, with an uneasy laugh. "When do those get invented?" It _was_ Lestrade, a folded newspaper under his arm, the constables standing even more stiffly upright under their superior's watchful eye. "Morning, Inspector! Sorry, it's all been a bit mad. I'll be right down."

Lestrade nodded up to her, smiling wryly: he could certainly imagine. "Not to worry, ma'am." Stuck in a house with an invalid Sherlock Holmes while a criminal threatened their safety—Lestrade had nothing but sympathy for the rest of 221B's inhabitants!


	8. Radius

**==Chapter 8==  
****Radius**

_In plays and poems someone understands  
__There's something makes us more than blood and bone  
_– Neil Gaiman, Dark Sonnet

In the Pemberton's breakfast parlour that same morning, General Pemberton watched his daughter anxiously from under his brows. Adelaide's anger was palpable from the opposite end of the table, sitting stiffly upright, expression wooden, every movement painfully precise and controlled as she buttered muffins and sipped her tea. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "My dear, may I trouble you to pass the butter?"

Adelaide did not look up, or immediately reply, reaching instead for the little silver bell beside her plate. When a footman approached from his post, she said coolly, "Crowther, will you kindly hand the butter to General Pemberton?"

Pemberton's eyebrows knitted together – what new impertinence was this?

The footman inclined his head, betraying none of the unease he must have felt at the storm brewing in the room, and conveyed the butter dish to his master as if carrying a porcelain vase.

The General pressed his lips together a moment, nodding curtly. "Thank you, Crowther." Once the footman had gratefully retreated, he began firmly, "Adelaide, I know that you are angry with me, but I would appreciate it if you would not involve the servants." Still there was no answer. "I wish you would simply talk to me, my darling. I would rather hear your anger than your silence."

"Would you, Papa?" Adelaide asked, in the most innocent tones imaginable. "Do forgive me – I was of the impression that silence is a respectable female's greatest virtue." Her voice was becoming poisonously sweet. "Or is that rather obedience?"

Pemberton chose not to rise to the bait. "You act as if I _want_ you to be miserable. Dearest, you are my only child, and you are precious to me beyond words—I want nothing but the very best for you!"

Adelaide snorted. "And what might that be? A saint? A man with no stain upon his past? Even if you could find such a man, Papa, I would not have him."

Her father shook his head sadly. Adelaide would have had no issues with that idea _before_ falling in love! "You are wise, my dear, in not wishing for a perfect husband – a man should have _some_ knowledge of the world and its ways..." then trailed off, realising his mistake as Adelaide's eyes narrowed.

"And does that include mistresses, dearest father? How..." She bit her lip, flushing, but pressed on. "How many women _may_ a man take to his bed before his worldly education is considered complete?" Sardonically, "According to Miss Winter, his lovers may number in the hundreds!"

Pemberton's frown deepened, and not merely at the idea of the Baron having hundreds of mistresses. "Who is this Miss Winter you speak of?"

Adelaide stared. "Who...?! Papa! That Woman who came last night, Mr. Holmes's... _painted Jezebel_ of an accomplice!"

The General paled. Oh, dear God... _Damn_ Holmes, why had he not warned him?! "I... gather the girl was an old flame of the Baron's? Adelaide, I swear to you, I had no knowledge of this."

"Really?" Adelaide's tone could have dissolved glass. "Dear me, how comforting! A paid agent can bring whomever he chooses into my own home, to _humiliate_ me with the vilest collection of falsehoods about the man I love –" She rose from her seat, voice steadily rising in volume; "and my own _doting_ father remains safely in ignorance of it all _until the following morning!_"

The General flinched, stricken, looking down at his plate in silence—in attempting to save his daughter's life, he'd never meant to hurt her like this! Then Adelaide's hand slapped down on the table, rattling the breakfast things and making him start.

"_Look_ at me!"

"Adelaide!" Shocked to the core, Pemberton rose, trying to recover himself. "I will _not_ be spoken to in temper like this!"

She laughed scornfully. "Oh, and what happened to 'I would rather hear your anger'? Let me tell you, Papa: if you continue to interfere in my marriage, then... then you may have all the silence you desire!"

A chill ran down her father's spine. "What do you mean?

"I mean that if you don't stop meddling, I will pack up my trousseau, take the first available train to Kingston, and live with Eduárd until the wedding!"

"Darling, you... you cannot mean that!"

"And, indeed, you must not!" Baron Mészáros had come striding into the room, unannounced.

Not knowing whether to light up or blush, Adelaide did both as she came forward. "_Eduárd_, darling!"

Mészáros took her outstretched hands in his, raised one to his lips, then turned to the stunned General and bowed. "Forgive me, good sir, but I heard the raised voices as I came in. Adelaide, my love, your courage and devotion are second to none, but I could not bear to see such a stain upon your reputation."

Adelaide's face fell, clearly not expecting her fiancé to side with her father over her. "But, Eduárd..."

"If you must go through with this notion, dearest, then I shall insist that you bring a companion with you to act as a chaperone. And to leave your home so soon—surely you are aware of how it would look to others, even to friends, and you must know how deeply it would wound your father." Adelaide flushed resentfully, looking down, and Mészáros squeezed her hands. "My darling, whatever has distressed you, is it inconceivable that you might, upon reflection, regret removing yourself so hastily, with not one kind word for the only other man who loves you as much as I do? The two of you have been everything to each other for so long: not merely father and daughter, but the dearest of friends. And I would not have you part in anger on my account, not for the world." A glimmer of guilt appeared in Adelaide's eyes, and he put his hand under her chin gently. "Look at me, love..."

Adelaide was startled into a huff of abashed laughter, looking up. "Eduárd, that isn't fair!"

"Of course not," Mészáros chuckled. "I would do anything to see you smile again – even commit the mortal sin of eavesdropping." She giggled, covering her mouth. "Come, my love, speak to your father. Our differences have only ever been over _your_ best interests, and that is all in the past."

Adelaide nodded, biting her lip, looking increasingly ashamed of herself as she turned back towards her parent.

"Is that not so, General?"

Pemberton had gone white to the lips in horror and fury, understanding the Baron's unspoken message only too well: he'd had his sporting chance to prevent the wedding, but time was now up... He forced himself to nod stiffly, thinking thoughts not lawful to be uttered. "Indeed."

Adelaide's expression turned radiant, all else forgotten for the moment in her joy. "Oh, Papa, do you mean it?" She clasped his hands in hers, eyes glistening. "How _good_ you are!" Throwing her arms around his neck, "Forgive me, dearest father, I've been so unkind!"

The General clutched his daughter close, chest aching sharply. How easily the repentant tears flowed when you'd already gotten what you wanted... "No, dearest," he answered hoarsely, "forgive _me_." He drew a deep, shaky breath to regain his composure, and kissed her forehead. "My best beloved." And all the while, the Baron was standing behind Adelaide, dark eyes gleaming with triumph...

"I do forgive you, Papa." She kissed his cheek, releasing him. "Thank you!" Turning to Mészáros, "Oh, Eduárd, isn't this wonderful? To think that just last night I was so miserable, and now...! And we owe it all to you, my darling."

Mészáros shook his head. "Dear one, I merely reminded you of what you already knew in your heart. But I am honoured to have been able to render you both even so small a service."

Pemberton forced himself to smile pleasantly, extending his hand. "On the contrary, sir. I assure you that I am fully sensible of the debt we owe you. I look forward to the day when I may repay it in full." He _must_ be patient, there was still time for Adelaide to change her mind, for Holmes to act...

The Baron smiled back, not bothering to conceal his amusement, and grasped the General's hand firmly, just a fraction tighter than necessary.

"You shall, Papa, soon enough," Adelaide beamed, merrily oblivious to the undercurrent of tension, "when you give me away next month. Speaking of the wedding, won't you please excuse us? Eduárd and I still have a great deal to discuss."

* * *

Once they were alone, Eduárd took Adelaide's hands in his—she had to resist the urge to throw herself into his arms. "Ah, my dearest," he smiled, "every day you become more precious to me." He kissed her cheek. "And how do you fare on this fine morning?"

"Oh, Eduárd!" Adelaide's eyes glistened, her emotions from earlier still raw. "Thank heaven you came! I don't know what I should have done without you!"

"How on earth did your conversation come to such a pass, my dear one?" He reached up to stroke her hair, and she shivered deliciously at his touch, he'd never done _that_ with her before… "It's so unlike you."

She hummed, scarcely conscious of what he was saying, then gasped, remembering where they were, and snatched at his hand. "Eduárd, _please_! What if the servants should see?"

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through her. "Forgive me, dearest." He held her hands again, murmuring, "You have no idea how intoxicating you are." He bent to kiss her fingers, and she almost forgot to breathe again.

"Patience, my darling," she managed, blushing herself. "Just six more weeks…" Her thoughts turned to the wedding night, as they did with rather more frequency than any of the matrons of Mont-Choisi would have approved of… and felt a pang as a memory intruded rudely again—"_I was the Baron's last mistress, or one of them—it's been almost a year, so who can say? I am one of the hundreds he has tempted and used_…"

"What is it?" his voice intruded softly on her brooding. "What is wrong?"

"Eduárd, last night was _dreadful_! I should never have agreed to receive Mr. Holmes, he was everything you said! And That Woman…" She shuddered, wishing she could banish also from her mind Kitty Winter's passionate tones, the fury in her green eyes…

Eduárd frowned. "What woman? My poor darling, what happened?"

"A Miss Kitty Winter... She... she told me…" Adelaide shook her head, tears spilling over. "Oh, no, I can't tell you what she said, it was vile! How could any woman tell such _wicked _lies?!"

His frown deepened. "Kitty Winter... I do not know this name."

She felt unreasonably relieved to hear it, confirming her hope that that horrible detective had managed to manufacture a 'witness' to her beloved's past. "Forgive me, love, you must think me so foolish. But when she claimed to…" Her cheeks flushed. "...to have known you in Paris... I knew then that she must be lying. You would never have forsaken the Baroness so!"

"Paris," he mused. "A French girl? Red hair, very pale?"

She felt her very being pale. "Yes…"

He must have seen something to worry him, because he grasped her shoulders gently and smiled reassuringly. "Oh, no, no, no, my darling, you misunderstand. This young woman who now calls herself Kitty Winter—I did meet her in Paris, it is true, but there was an illness in her. The poor girl suffers from delusions—she fell in love with me and fancied I loved her in return. I brought her with me to London to seek treatment for her, but she ran away before I could find a suitable doctor, and I was unable to find her."

Adelaide's hand went to her heart, her loathing melting into pity. "Poor woman!" Of course, that explained everything! "Oh, _why_ didn't you tell me before, Eduárd? I would have sent word to you at once, kept her with me!"

He chuckled ruefully. "How was I to know?" He kissed her forehead, and she wished he would kiss her lips, where she most wanted his own… "Put her and her ramblings out of your head, dearest."

"I hope I may," she whispered, then gasped as a thought occurred to her. "But, Eduárd, if she was with Mr. Holmes last night_..._ then_ he_ must know where she may be found! You must go to Baker Street at once, make that wicked man give her up!"

Eduárd's eyes widened, as if struck by a terrible thought. "Oh, dear heavens! That... may not be possible, my darling. Have you not seen any of the morning papers?"

"No, Papa never sends for them until after breakfast. What on earth is the matter?"

"I am so sorry, love," he said gravely, "it simply did not occur to me until just now: Mr. Holmes was savagely attacked in the street last night by a gang of ruffians... and... I fear it may have happened while he and Miss Winter were returning from this very house."

She covered her mouth, feeling pale again. "Attacked…" For a man who made courting danger his living, it was one thing, but for a helpless girl not right in her head… "And… Miss Winter? Was there no mention…?"

"There was not." And Adelaide suddenly wished dearly that she'd never treated the poor girl so contemptuously. "We can only pray she is safe."

* * *

_**MURDEROUS ATTACK UPON SHERLOCK HOLMES**_

_We learn with regret that Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the well-known private detective, was the victim last night of a murderous assault which has left him in a precarious position. There are no exact details to hand, but the event is believed to have occurred about seven o'clock in the vicinity of Cavendish Square. The attack was made by several men armed with sticks, and Mr. Holmes was beaten about the head and body, receiving injuries which the doctors describe as most serious. He was carried to St. Mary's Hospital and afterwards taken to his rooms in Baker Street. Although the miscreants who attacked him appeared to have been respectably dressed men, no doubt they belonged to that criminal fraternity which has so often had occasion to bewail the activity and ingenuity of the injured man. _

* * *

Beth awoke early in the afternoon, disturbed by the strong light peeking in past the curtains. Sally met her on the stairs, whispering that John was fast asleep on the sitting room sofa. Mrs. Hudson had gone out shopping with the Irregulars, both as an escort and to help carry the baskets, but she'd left lunch on the stove, for which Beth was grateful—her stomach was grumbling and running on empty! As quietly as she could manage, she went down to the kitchen, stretching and yawning, trying rouse herself further…

And stopped short at the sight of Kitty sitting at the table with a bowl of stew.

Given their previous encounters, the first of which had her and Will fighting the other woman off of a German spy, Beth wasn't sure how to act around Kitty Winter, although she had no doubt whatsoever that Kitty's tale was one-hundred-percent the truth. One victim knew another. "Oh, hi," she smiled shyly, sheepishly.

Kitty nodded awkwardly. "_Bonjour. _You are hungry?" She gestured at the pot on the range with her spoon. "Madame Hudson made _le ragoût_, there is plenty." The kitchen salt pig sat beside her plate, and she added a large tablespoon to her food, stirring it in.

Beth stared—she'd never seen anyone use that much salt before. "...did the stew turn out bland?"

"Ah, _non!_" Kitty laughed. "No critique of the talents of _la maîtresse_. But I, ah, have not had a chance to hunt in two days... I must keep up my saline level somehow." She didn't dare to go out just now, even in daylight. Someone must surely be watching, even if Eduárd hadn't tracked her back here after... no, _no_, she would _not_ think of it!

"So it's the salt you need," Beth murmured, fascinated. "Why human blood, though—why not just buy a bag of table salt?"

Kitty shook her head regretfully. "The scientists at Torchwood did explain it to me once. All I remember now is that human digestion somehow alters the chemical structure. This, the raw ingredient... it suffices for a short time, but sooner or later..." She shrugged helplessly, and continued eating.

"...Ah." Beth shivered at that delightful thought, but fixed herself a bowl of stew anyway—feeling disturbed wasn't going to distract her from her truly empty stomach. As she ate (and did her best not to devour), she noticed the dark rings under the other woman's eyes. "So," she said softly, "how are you feeling this mor—afternoon?"

Kitty tensed, expression hunted.

Beth mentally kicked herself—she knew that look, she'd seen it often enough in the mirror, and she should have known better. _Well, make it better, then!_ "I'm sorry." She made a face at herself. "I don't walk on eggshells very well. But… Miss Winter… if you need… if you need somebody to talk to… I'm here. Sally, too." She looked down at her bowl. "We… have been through a lot of, um… well, shit. I just… wanted you to know."

Kitty nodded jerkily. "Thank you... Madame, your husband... I am so sorry. Madame Hudson would not even tell me what happened till you returned from the hospital..." The smell of his... of _him_ when she woke had been faint, but unmistakeable... and so damned _tantalising_...

Beth blushed slightly and she didn't know why. "Ah… thank you." She ducked her head and all but shoved a spoonful into her mouth, unsure of what she was feeling right now and why.

"May I..." Kitty tried to ignore her own reddening cheeks, trying again. "I mean, is he allowed to have visitors just now?" It didn't matter if she couldn't decide at the moment whether she wanted him more as a lover or as food, because neither was an option! Not if she wanted to live...

Beth blinked. "Oh." _You're surprised _why_, exactly? She has a thing for him, you know that_. "Well… he's probably sleeping—at least, I hope he is. You can ask Dr. Watson... although he's definitely sleeping right now. Sherlock _did_ want to see you when he first found out about... what happened to you last night. He was worried."

"_Kitty, go! _Run_, girl!" _Kitty's face crumpled as the memory returned with a vengeance, hands trembling, giving up the struggle. _"That is very kind of you, __monsieur__, but I shall be all right, thank you."_ And she hadn't even heard him coming...

Beth's discomfort instantly melted to pity. "Oh, honey!" She stood, moved around the table, and wrapped her arms around Kitty, taking care to keep her embrace light and gentle.

Kitty tensed, choking on the next sob, though not quite pulling away. She couldn't remember anyone ever holding her while _crying_... _Though Porky might have if you'd ever let him._

Her own vision blurring, Beth rubbed Kitty's back soothingly. "Oh, Kitty," she murmured, "I'm so sorry."

Kitty slowly relaxed as it sank in that nothing bad was about to happen, leaning into the embrace just a little. "_Why...?_" _Mon pauvre ami..._

"Oh, Kitty…" Beth began to stroke the other woman's hair, her own tears falling.

"...I didn't _know_... _Why didn't he tell me?_" But she already knew, and knowing only made the pain worse. What hope had she ever given him, he must have thought it useless even to try...

Beth didn't understand, but she knew that Kitty and Johnson had probably been friends, at least. She could think of nothing to say, and she wasn't sure that she _should_—sometimes, there was nothing you could say in the face of loss. She simply held Kitty and continued to stroke her hair, letting her grieve.

* * *

Sometime later, after Kitty had exhausted her tears for the moment, Beth made some tea. "Here you go," she said softly, setting a cup in front of Kitty. "The English solution to what ails you."

"_Merci_." Kitty wrapped her hands around it, sipping the black, unsweetened brew carefully. "Ah,_ c'est bon_."

"Oh, good." Beth at least knew enough French to figure that out. _Okay, but now isn't the time to wonder again why the TARDIS translates so selectively_. She sat back down to her lunch, which she'd warmed a little with some fresh broth—but oh, what she wouldn't give for a microwave! "I'm half-English," she said lightly, "but apparently that's not enough for tea to work on me like that."

Kitty shrugged. "_Et puis?_ I am not French by human standards, but I can appreciate a good cup."

Beth grinned and also shrugged. "I guess I prefer coffee."

Glancing at her leftover stew, Kitty decided she wasn't hungry any more, continuing to sip her tea. An uncomfortable silence reigned for about a minute, till Kitty sighed, "I _can_ hear, you know."

Beth frowned. "I'm sorry?"

Kitty smiled sadly. "All the questions you are so very carefully not asking. I appreciate the forbearance, Madame Holmes, but if there is something you wish to know..." At least that was something she _could_ do, rather than just kicking her heels in someone else's house for goodness knew how long.

Beth blushed, playing with her hair for a moment while she tried to recover. "Call me Beth," she said finally, softly, then gave a slight laugh. "'Madame Holmes' makes me sound like a dowager grandmother or something."

Kitty grinned appreciatively. "_Eh bien_, you may be one yet."

Beth blinked. "It better not be for another forty years!" She chewed at her lip as she thought about what Kitty said, then ventured: "What about your name? I'm guessing 'Kitty Winter' isn't your real one—kind of English."

"No. I am sure my parents gave me one... but I cannot remember now what it was. I was so small..." Kitty shook her head. "As for 'Kitty'..." A bitter smile. "I am afraid you have Eduárd Mészáros to thank for that, in part. _Chaton_, he would call me... It means 'kitten'. _Mon dieu_, it was such sweetness in the beginning... and then it became one more weapon."

Beth's vision blurred again. "Oh, _Kitty_..." She stopped, coloring—she didn't _want_ to use a name that the Baron had given the other woman. "I'm so sorry."

Kitty shook her head again, she understood. "Men have given me so many names... _chaton_... _ma fille... petite... _Even the Professor... He called me Madame." She shivered. "I can't even remember him asking..." As if '_my_ lady' was all he considered important, and that should have told her everything she needed to know...

Beth echoed Kitty's shiver. "I'll bet he didn't," she muttered. Why should the great and mighty Professor be bothered with what poor little mortals wanted when he had plans for them? "I don't think he ever asked questions he didn't already know the answer to."

"No. And then you... Then it suddenly all came to an end. I was free..." But the words rang hollow, remembering how lost she had felt back then, having her entire support system ripped away in an instant. "Free to return to the gutter where he found me."

Guilt crashed over Beth like a wave, and she never would have expected feel guilty over killing _James Moriarty_, of all people… But how many people had been hurt when they were cast adrift suddenly without their jailer? "...I'm sorry," she said, her voice small.

Kitty waved a hand, rather more sharply than she'd intended. "You did what you had to. I took what I could carry away with me, called it my wages – but the little I could sell did not bring much. And I was still an addict... I know now that Moriarty never intended me to be free of it, and he... he was angry with me, for helping you in Paris. I had not been allowed to feed in four days... That first hunt back on the streets nearly cost me my life. My senses were dull, I never noticed the man I was after wasn't really drunk... and he had already chosen _me_... If not for Porky..." She gripped the tea cup tightly, blinking hard for a moment, then gave up and let the tears fall again.

"Oh my _gosh_..."

"I had found another predator –" lips curling wryly, "I cannot escape them, it seems. He helped me to get back on my feet... taught me to disguise my kills... and every day that I was getting off the drunks, I was waiting... waiting for him to reveal what he really wanted... but he never... He never even let me thank him... and without him, I would have nothing, not even a name. The only name I could think to give when he asked was 'Kitten'... but I choked on the word, and only the first half came out. 'Kitty?' he asked. I think he thought it was short for Katherine, or some such name... and that... was when I decided to keep it."

Beth bit her lip, heart aching for Kitty. "...for what it's worth… _I_ like it… It's pretty." She blushed again, wishing she'd kept her mouth shut.

Kitty smiled, blushing herself, and wiped her eyes. "Thank you..." Softly, "I promised myself that this name would never be used at the whim of any man... and neither would I. As for my last name, well, I suspect you have already guessed the reason."

"Yeah," Beth said softly. "Kitty… I know I keep saying this, but… I really am sorry. I wish there was something I could do."

"_Do_?" Kitty stared. "Madame... Beth... Have you not understood... without you, your family... I would only have left Torchwood in a coffin, or more likely a specimen jar! And now..." A half-hysterical laugh slipped out at the irony of it; "now you face yet another monster from my past!" She sobered, expression grim. "I know you did not join either fight for my sake, _mon amie_, but even so... I am with you to the end in this, if it means I can see Eduárd Mészáros where he belongs... in the pit where he has pushed so many."

Beth's fresh blush cooled quickly. "Yeah," she said quietly. "I hope…" She was barely aware of the fact that she was clutching her bowl tightly, less hungry by the minute. "I do understand, a little bit. I mean…" She exhaled slowly. "I could cheerfully strangle the Baron for what he did to Sherlock... but that's not the only reason I want to."

Kitty eyed Beth with concern, hesitant to ask.

Beth smiled mirthlessly. "Let's just say that the Baron reminds me very much not only of a certain Professor... but also his right-hand man." Even an actual vampire, sucking blood and making more vampires, could hardly be worse than Sebastian Moran.

Kitty nodded, eyes wide. "Even Eduárd..." she said slowly, "could have taken lessons from that one, I think. There were many of us at Torchwood who hoped Moriarty would decide that he, too, was expendable."

Beth gave a bitter laugh. "Oh, that was never gonna happen. The only people they cared about outside of themselves was each other." _'__Colonel, Mrs. Holmes has just entered the family, and I shall need you to keep watch on her for a while longer. You may do what you wish with her, but do be aware that any children she bears in the future must be Holmes's. Heaven knows you have enough scattered across the globe.'_ She had to hug herself as she shuddered.

Hesitantly, Kitty reached out and put a hand on Beth's shoulder, eyes full of empathy – predator or no, she knew very well what it was like to be someone else's prey... She considered herself fortunate that she had managed to mostly stay out of the Colonel's path.

Beth gave Kitty a faint smile, then bit her lip. "Kitty," she said softly, "how do you handle it? Sometimes, I'm okay, and other times, the memories and the nightmares just... make me wish I could claw my own heart out." Especially when she felt the ghost of Moran's touch on her skin… she might not have clawed out her heart, but she _had_ scratched her skin bloody to make the feeling stop.

"_Je comprends._ My thoughts are... not often friends to me. There have been... moments..."

"Moments… when you want… when you… have to stop yourself?" Beth's thoughts were screaming at her, but the words wouldn't stop coming, tumbling out of her mouth as if they were necessary to keep breathing. "How do you do it?"

Kitty gave her an awkward shrug, struggling to find words for what she had always tried to avoid thinking about too much – as if that had ever really worked. "I suppose... even on the bad days, leaving early feels... too much like losing? And I find... I do not like to lose." Least of all to filth like Eduárd Mészáros.

"Huh." Beth blinked. "That… that's something I'd never thought of before." But she had no more time to think on it, because the next moment the doorbell rang. Both women started and tensed, sharing a look with each other, then Beth rose and moved to the kitchen doorway.

A few moments later, Sally's voice called from the stairway. "Um, Beth? Was Sherlock expecting another client?"

Beth hurried out into the foyer, shaking her head.

A wide-eyed Sally came down the rest of the way, keeping her voice low. "Okay, because there is a _seriously_ high-class-looking woman out there! I thought maybe it was someone from the press, since the constables let her through – but she can't be, not dressed up like that!"

Beth's bewildered expression mirrored Sally's. "You're kidding! Ah… you wanna answer the door and I'll be behind it in case there's trouble? You know, element of surprise?"

"Gee, thanks."

"If she is dressed that well, she may just be a friend of Miss Pemberton's," Kitty suggested.

"Maybe..." Sally took a deep breath, went up to the door and called through it, "Hello?"

Beth was startled to hear a Spanish accent, their visitor's voice rich and deep. "Good afternoon. I should like to speak to Señor Holmes, if I may."

What the _heck_? "Um, is it about a case?" Sally began. "I'm terribly sorry, but..."

Kitty interrupted, eyes wide. "_Señora_ _Klein?!_"

* * *

**Ria:** DW canon is a little thin on the subject of alien digestion, so we had to do some intelligent guesswork in Kitty's case. It's one thing for an undead, supernatural being to go on... _un_living on blood alone, but plasmavores are living humanoids. Sky therefore conjectured that they would have to eat solid food that was a little more normal for most of the nutrients they need, with humanoid blood as an extra dietary requirement.

**Sky:** Okay, so I have to finally ask: What _did_ you guys think of the plasmavore turning out to be Kitty Winter? From a one-shot villain to a tragic antagonist to... well, Kitty! We certainly didn't see that coming! Especially since, even when we decided we wanted to bring "Madame" back at some point past the season 1 finale, we were thinking of a different canon character to reintroduce her. But when we decided to rewrite ILLU for our 'verse, the plasmavore just ended up being a logical choice to use in Kitty's place, and it made sense to keep the name, too.

And I'd love to say more about Kitty, about the ladies of this story, but honestly, I don't feel like I _can_ without going beyond what's posted at this point, so that'll have to wait. Honestly, we could probably write a whole book about the development of this one, I swear... xD


	9. La Dama Bella Con Compasión

**==Chapter 9==**

**La Dama Bella Con ****Compasión**

_But… do you stop loving someone just because they betray you? I don't think so. That's what makes the betrayal hurt so much - pain, frustration, anger… and I still loved [them]. I still do._

– Brandon Sanderson

Beth stared at the open door in shock. _Klein?!_ Their mystery woman's surname was Klein _and_ she was Spanish?!

"_Mí Dios_, is that…" Their visitor's tone turned abashed. "I am afraid I never learned her name—the young lady from Paris. May I come in?"

"_Oui_, Señora, of course!" Kitty nodded impatiently to Sally, who bit her lip, exchanging a doubtful look with Beth.

Beth shrugged with her eyebrows, shaking her head in bewilderment—of all the twists she could have thought of, this one was beyond her wildest imaginings! She unlocked the door and opened it, three girls who'd been through the wringer and looked it on one side and one noblewoman on the other. Their visitor looked to be in her forties, tall and stately, pale olive-brown skin, dark hair swept back under the wine red hat that matched her coat… She was probably the loveliest woman Beth had ever seen, but it was her large dark brown eyes that were truly captivating.

She had eyes like the Doctor.

"Come in, _Señora_," said Beth, stepping back to allow her in. "I'm Elizabeth Holmes, this is Sally Watson, and apparently you already know Kitty Winter."

"_Sí_, we have met once before." _Señora_ Klein nodded to Kitty as Beth closed and locked the door. "It is a pleasure to meet you, _señoras_, but I regret that it must be under these circumstances. My name is Isadora Klein."

Sally's mouth fell open as she finally recognised the name – _that_ case hadn't already happened, had it?

Kitty looked at her strangely. "You know who she is, Madame Watson? I did not think I had mentioned the name of Eduárd's sire yesterday."

Beth's jaw also dropped. "His _sire?!_" She looked between the now-curious Isadora Klein and Kitty, and sighed. "Y'know what, it's just _way_ too complicated to explain right now." They had enough complications as it was.

"Sally? Elizabeth?" came Mrs. Hudson's voice from the kitchen. "Is everything all right?"

Beth put her face into her hands. "Speaking of," she muttered. She turned and walked towards the kitchen. "Everything's fine, Mrs. Hudson—we have a visitor, and we're coming back to the kitchen."

"Oh, _really_, dear, must you? I've all this to put away, and the dishes from lunch still to wash!"

Sally hurried back into the kitchen ahead of the other three. "Oh, I'll help, Mrs. Hudson." Then she snorted at a sudden evil thought, whispering to the older woman with a grin, "Don't freak out, okay?" before calling back over her shoulder, "You know what, we can all help! _Won't_ we, ladies?"

Isadora looked affronted for a moment, but sighed and lifted her chin. "If I must."

Beth had to suppress a smirk, her respect for both Isadora _and_ Sally going up a notch. "This way,_ Señora_." She led the short way back to the kitchen, looking forward to this. "Mrs. Hudson, this is _Señora_ Isadora Klein. I think she's here to help us with our case. _Señora_, this is Mrs. Hudson, our landlady."

Isadora gave Mrs. Hudson a regal nod, as if from one queen to another. "A pleasure to meet you."

Mrs. Hudson's face was a study – her suspicions had been aroused by Sally's mischievous expression, but she'd never expected a woman dressed like a duchess to be presenting herself in _her_ kitchen to do the washing up! Reminding herself sternly that her kitchen had seen much stranger sights than this, she drew herself up, returning the nod. "Charmed, madam."

"Is the copper full, Mrs. Hudson?" Sally couldn't quite conceal the quiver of laughter in her voice, and Kitty's expression of desperately suppressed mirth behind Isadora wasn't helping. "I'll light the fire!" She escaped to the scullery to negotiate with the water heater. Mycroft had paid for running water to be installed upstairs as thanks for the Bruce-Partington case, which Mrs. Hudson had graciously accepted, but refused point blank to let the plumbers replace the scullery pump. The landlady had heard far too many horror stories about rusty piping, she wanted to know exactly what was going into the daily meals and laundry, thank you very much!

Watching Sally go, Beth couldn't help commenting, "Y'know… I think Sherlock just got replaced as the Most Devious Person in the house."

"_Los humanos son muy ridículos_," **1** Isadora said quietly, not _quite_ a mutter.

"_Sí, lo somos... ¿Pero... los vampiros... no son?_" **2** Beth smiled brightly at their guest's surprise.

"_¿Hablas español?_" **3**

Beth had to continue to go slowly and think hard—it had been a good year since she'd had to speak Spanish in full sentences like this. High school Spanish classes seemed like a lifetime ago. "_Sí, un... poco. Mi madre es Venezolana en parte._" **4**

Isadora smiled. "_Muy bien._ You do your heritage credit."

"_Gracias_," Beth murmured, blushing.

Meanwhile, Kitty noticed that Mrs. Hudson was quietly getting on with putting away the shopping, which included a bag of long-stemmed onions. "Oh! May I, Madame?"

"Of course, dear." Mrs. Hudson set the bag aside and found Kitty a length of string from the sideboard.

"_Merci_." Kitty sat at the table and began plaiting the onion stems, lips pursed in concentration. Then she noticed the other two looking at her oddly. "_Quoi? _Should someone like me not know what to do with vegetables?"

Beth shrugged, giving Kitty a 'fair enough' smile before turning back to Isadora. "Speaking of hunters… why _are_ you here, _Señora_?"

"I came to ascertain the condition of_ Señor _Holmes, and to offer my assistance. You see, I had heard that dear Eduardo was about to be investigated again—one does not survive as long as I have without keeping one's ear to the ground. I heard that Sherlock Holmes was on the case, and rejoiced: I thought that, surely, if there was ever a mortal man who could take down Eduardo, it would be England's Great Detective. And then came the news of this attack."

"I'd like to trust you with the truth,_ Señora_," Beth said soberly, "but I also don't have much reason to just yet." The vampire sounded sincere, and Beth thought maybe she had a good feeling about her… but she also couldn't be sure that was just her _wanting_ to trust Isadora. "Can you give me one?"

Isadora nodded, something like respect, perhaps, in her eyes. Putting her hand into her coat, she withdrew from it a small vial, setting it on the table. "This is holy water. It is not fatal to me—not in so small a dose—but it is still poison to me and would injure me. My life—" she gave a slight, dry smile— "or at least my well-being—in your hands."

Beth shared a look with Sally, who'd just returned to the kitchen, and nodded slowly. "What sort of assistance are you offering?"

"Information. I have not personally seen Eduardo in some time, but if anything I know can help…"

"Not to sound ungrateful, Señora," Sally said hesitantly, "but why can't you intervene directly?" They _really_ could have done with her on their side last night!

"I would like nothing better," Isadora said gravely. "But I am Eduardo's sire. The bond between a vampire and her spawn is not to be taken lightly: I can feel his presence from a great distance, as he can mine. He would know the moment I came anywhere near him. And even if he did not sense me in his mind, he could both smell my blood and hear my heartbeat." At Beth's apparently obvious shock, Isadora continued: "Oh, _sí_, _Señora_, a vampire's heart still beats: but it does so at a rate far, far slower than any living creature could survive by. No, I am afraid that if Eduardo is to be destroyed, it cannot be by my hand."

"It is his reputation we seek to destroy, _chère madame_, rather than the man himself," Kitty said, "little though any of us likes the idea. You have heard that he is lately engaged to the daughter of General Pemberton?"

"_Sí_, I have. I would—" Isadora gave Kitty an apologetic look— "have made an attempt to speak with the young lady as I have done before, but I feel safe in saying that Eduardo is not likely to have revealed one bit of his true nature to her just yet. She is a prize catch, no? And he was always very careful with such women, as he was with the late Baroness before their wedding. Unless you could show the girl her lover in the act of murder, I do not know how you could otherwise destroy his reputation in the eyes of someone who will be so thoroughly infatuated with him that she can scarcely tell right from wrong anymore."

"Depressing thought," Beth muttered, her stomach sick now. But it _was_ a possibility she'd already wondered about.

A chill ran down Sally's spine. "Then... you think even proving to Adelaide that her fiancé's a serial philanderer... won't be enough?" What _would_ it take, for God's sake – a lobotomy?

Isadora sighed. "...perhaps... The problem with that approach is that it may come up short in the face of Eduardo claiming that he has renounced his old ways forever, especially if he names the young lady as his reason for doing so. It is a favored tactic of his and many, many human men like him. Showing her his cruelty in the past is a gamble—it may work, it may not. It is his cruelty in the present that she _should_ see, and that is most difficult to accomplish."

It was Beth's turn to sigh as she massaged her temples. "What about his library? Kitty told us about that." At Isadora's confused look: "His journals."

"Ahhh. The journals of his conquest, do you mean?" The woman had the grace look abashed—they _were_ speaking of the vampire she'd sired, after all. "There is potential there, _sí_, but Eduardo keeps them safely hidden away at all times, behind not merely lock and key but also his thralls, his servants, who live—or exist—to do his bidding. Most of the time, that is no more than is required of a normal house staff, but they can be deadly to encounter. To attempt to steal just one journal would most likely be suicidal."

"Oh, _great_!" Sally groaned. "It's feeling more and more like we've got no choice but to tell Adelaide just why she should be refusing any late-night dinner invites! And why does that feel so horribly unfair, all of a sudden?" she muttered, half to herself.

"Perhaps because you count a number of serial killers as friends and allies," Kitty answered matter-of-factly, "including centuries-old ones."

Sally blinked. "...yeah, that works." She sighed, hearing bubbling noises from the copper. "'Scuse me a second..."

"It might be suicide for one or two people," Beth mused. _But there's safety in numbers_—and it had been a group effort that had freed Sherlock and John from Moriarty… She turned again to Isadora. "What about a team?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"What if there was an entire team to do it? Handle the staff and grab a journal at the same time?"

"Elizabeth Holmes, have you lost your mind?!" Mrs. Hudson, who had been listening in the entire time, could hold her peace no longer.

"Aw, I was just going to ask that!" came Sally's voice from the scullery amid sounds of splashing.

Beth raised her voice so Sally could hear. "Yeah, and do either of you have a _better_ idea? _Whatever_ we do is going to be dangerous, and doing nothing is not a justifiable option." She didn't believe for one moment that the Baron would leave them in peace even if they did nothing else; he'd already drawn blood, and she was certain he'd come back for more.

"Well, a diversion is not a bad idea in itself..." Kitty said slowly, "although I certainly would not choose to face Eduárd on his own territory, and with so many under his control!" She hadn't realised before how lucky she'd been that none of the servants had seen her in the library the first time...

Having calmed again, Beth tilted her head. "I mean, I'm open to suggestions, Kitty." Just as long as they were actually coming up with ideas to _do_ things, and not sitting around despairing of the situation…

"The main problem is that we have no way of ensuring Eduárd will not be home at any given moment; and if we tried to lure him away, he would suspect a trap immediately." Kitty blinked. "Although..."

"Yes?"

"There is _one_ time that we can be sure of his attention being diverted; or he may even be away from home entirely."

"Kitty!" Mrs. Hudson gasped. "You don't mean the wedding day, surely?! The poor girl would never live it down!"

"Better that than not living to see her first anniversary," Isadora pointed out.

Sally reappeared with a bucket of hot water. "True, but that's cutting it _really_ fine! If we didn't get to the church in time for the 'I do's, we'd be sunk!"

Isadora looked grave. "They almost certainly would not have the wedding in a church. Eduardo has never yet allowed himself to be married in one, and I doubt he would begin now. Most likely, it will be held in his own home."

"Even better!" Kitty said excitedly, warming to the idea. "The servants will all be so busy with preparations, they won't have a chance to notice that one of the 'guests' is where they shouldn't be!"

"There's one problem with this idea, though," Beth said quietly. She looked at Sally and arched an eyebrow, wondering if her friend remembered the part of the printed story she was thinking of.

"Well, yeah," Sally frowned, pouring the bucket into the kitchen sink, "the tiny problem that none of us are invited! I can't see Sherlock or Kitty getting a 'save the date' card in the post any time soon, can you?"

Beth sighed, waiting until Sally went back to the scullery for another bucket and following her. Once they were in the other room, she leaned in close and whispered, "Sally, what do you remember about what Gruner does next in this story?"

"I thought John warned you about relying on those... Okay, okay!" Beth's expression spoke volumes just now. "Um, doesn't John go to see him with that piece of pottery... Oh. You think Mészáros might try to skip town, too?"

"Well… look, _obviously_ reality isn't going blow-for-blow with the story, but it's still running close enough that I don't think we should risk waiting to find out. It's not like it's a bad idea, either, for him to skip town and let the heat cool." She blew at a stray strand of hair that had fallen over her eyes. "And I don't like the idea of cutting it that close in the first place." That was just _asking_ for problems.

"Mm. So, what do we tell the others? Save crashing the wedding for Plan B?"

"Fine by me." Beth kneaded her forehead at the pain forming behind her eyes. "I swear, if the rest of us don't come out of this with ulcers, it's gonna be a miracle."

Sally grunted wearily, hoisting the next bucketful. "I'll just be grateful if none of us get neck piercings!"

1 Humans are very ridiculous.

2 Yes, we are... but... aren't vampires?

3 You speak Spanish?

4 Yes, a little bit. My mother is part Venezuelan.

* * *

Half an hour later, the dishes were done, and Isadora prepared to take her leave. "If you need me," she told them, "I am staying at the Savoy Hotel for the time being; simply tell the receptionist that you are a friend."

Beth nodded, grateful for the older woman's voluntary support. "_Muchas gracias, Señora_."

Kitty curtseyed. "_Au revoir, ch__è__re madame_." She hesitated, then added earnestly, "Sleep lightly." The Baron must already be aware that his sire was in town!

Isadora tilted her head in thanks. "You as well, _mi amiga_." She gave a smile that was small but seemed genuinely warm. "It was a pleasure meeting you all. Take care, and _la mejor de las suertes para todos ustedes_." **1**

Beth smiled in return. "_Adiós_," she said before she could think to stop herself, and blushed. The word was literally a shortened form of the farewell "go with God"—and maybe not the most appropriate thing to say to a vampire!

Isadora's smile turned amused, no discernible offense or malice. "_Adiós, mis amigas_." She stepped outside and made her way sedately to the carriage waiting for her.

Sally called cheerfully to the wide-eyed policemen still on sentry duty, "Kettle's on, Constables. Bring you out a cup?"

"Thank you kindly, ma'am!"

"I think I like her way more than I probably should," Beth said ruefully as Sally shut the door.

Sally nodded, grinning at Kitty. "Centuries-old serial killers... We ought to start a little black book."

Beth snorted as she moved past them both. "_Oy vey_." She sighed. "'Cruelty in the present'... how the zed are we supposed to get that kind of evidence without following the Baron around with phone cameras 24/7?"

"Well, that still beats lugging a tripod around Whitehall..." Sally winced as the words left her mouth, she'd forgotten Beth still didn't know!

Beth turned slowly, frowning. "What?"

"Oh, hell..." Sally muttered, closing her eyes. "Beth, you have to _promise_ not to go charging upstairs and wake anyone, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah." Beth had to keep from tapping her foot in impatience. "What are you talking about?"

"Remember when we went to see Mycroft? Someone was watching." Sally took the photograph out of her pocket, borrowed from her husband's notebook. "John found this planted on Sherlock last night."

Beth looked at the photo: herself, Sally, and Kathy at Whitehall. "Oh, you've gotta be kidding me," she laughed mirthlessly. "Son of a—you know, I don't think I'm even surprised at this point." She smiled, though the motion didn't quite feel right; but, oddly enough, the photo lifted a weight from her shoulders. She didn't have to worry about staying off the Baron's radar because she was already on it. "You know what this means? If he's threatening us already?" Her smile widened. "We're in the game." They could _do_ things now; they didn't have to sit around and wait for things to happen.

Sally couldn't manage a smile back – seeing that picture made her stomach churn every time. "Yeah, well..." she said flatly, "just remember that there's someone here who isn't. Beth, I won't stop you from doing what you have to, and I really hope we do get to nail the bastard..." She couldn't keep the tremor out of her voice: "But if anything happens to Kathy..."

Beth sobered in an instant, kicking herself for not thinking of the baby. "Sally, listen," she said solemnly: "nothing is going to happen to Kathy, okay? _Nothing_. I promise—I won't let it. If Mészáros turns up the heat, _I'll_ take it."

Sally just Looked at her friend, then hugged her, blinking hard – what made Beth think she wanted _that_, either?

1 The best of luck to you all.

* * *

Seeing the photograph had given Beth an idea. _"It is his cruelty in the present that she _should_ see"_—and there was a living example of that cruelty upstairs, much as she hated the idea of taking advantage of her husband like that. But, really, Sherlock's injuries would be very hard for Adelaide to get around.

_Please still be asleep_. She cracked open the bedroom door, and he was.

And the sight of him broke her heart all over again.

She moved into the room as noiselessly as possible, knowing by now which floorboards _didn't_ creak, and started to snap photos with her phone. Although her blurring vision didn't exactly help… After a minute, she figured she had enough decent shots and turned to go—and gasped in surprise at the sight of Kitty peering in.

Kitty blushed, whispering, "_Pardon_..." but her appalled gaze kept returning to the bed. No one had warned her that he was _that_ badly injured!

Beth echoed Kitty's blush. "'Scuse me," she whispered, and left the room. She jerked her head in invitation to join her on the landing and sat down. Kitty hesitated, then closed the bedroom door quietly and followed. Beth folded her hands in her lap and waited for Kitty to sit before she began. "He looks worse than he actually is," she said softly. "Doing 'well' is going to be relative for a long time, but it's not as bad as it looks, trust me." Even so, she had to brush the lingering tears from her eyes—she was still having to convince _herself_ that he was okay.

Kitty nodded, a lump in her throat. "I... I beg your pardon for the intrusion, _madame_. You did ask me to be patient..."

Beth shook her head slowly. Kitty had just called her 'madame' again. "It's okay, really." She bit her lip, wishing she felt she could offer comfort again… but would it be too awkward this time? If Kitty had strong feelings for Sherlock, was it really Beth's business if the other woman didn't act on them? She clasped and unclasped her hands, wishing she could think of something else to say to fill the silence, break the awkwardness.

Kitty gave her a rueful smile. "I gather that 'okay' means much the same thing as 'fine'?" A huff of despairing laughter escaped. "You have a homeless predator sheltering from another in your house!" Bitterly, "Do you not wonder when feeding on the nearest human will be a necessity rather than a choice... and if you will be first because we both care for the same man?"

Beth flinched, not having expected that, but looked Kitty in the eye. "Would you?" she said calmly. _Because I don't believe you would_.

Kitty avoided her gaze, muttering, "Well, once, perhaps..." Certainly if she'd known who Beth was the first time they'd met, who she would become...

"What happened?" Beth asked gently, belying the way her nerves felt like guitar strings tuned too tightly. She wasn't walking on eggshells now—she was treading on dangerous ground. Somewhere along the way in the past twenty-four hours, she'd almost forgotten that the first time she'd met the other woman, Kitty had injured both her and Will and might have done worse if she'd felt she had to.

"Your husband-to-be held a knife to my throat." Kitty sighed. "I am not so very blind that I cannot take so obvious a hint that a man's affections lie elsewhere." The fury burning in the detective's eyes had been anything but cold in that moment...

Beth blinked—she had _not_ expected that! "...ah." Oh zed, her cheeks felt like they were on fire. "Um…" She ducked her head, laughing despairingly at herself. "Oh, gosh." _Why does it seem like Sherlock and I were the last ones to know he loved me?_ "I'm sorry, it's just…" She couldn't seem to stop blushing, or speaking in fragments, or looking at the floor. "That… that wasn't, um… wasn't my takeaway. From that particular moment."

"You believed we had a – what is the term? – a history, he and I?"

Beth's spine stiffened. "Well, I had never _seen_ him like that before." That fierce, or that angry—not even anything _she'd_ said had ever made him that angry. "You two knew each other already…" She still didn't think it was an unreasonable conclusion.

Kitty nodded. "He has not yet told you how, has he?"

"He told me he met you in Paris when he and John were still with the Doctor…" Beth shrugged, deciding not to mention what Sherlock had initially told her about Kitty wanting to drink him dry.

"_Oui_, the spring of last year. Eduárd had returned to his Baroness... leaving me alone with my new thirst for the blood of drunkards. Ale, champagne, spirits – it did not matter, if it helped me to forget... And I grew careless." Kitty shook her head. "Four kills inside of a week, and all in the same _arondissement_... but the catacombs had sheltered me for years, few others knew those tunnels so well. And if all else failed, I had my Slabs." At Beth's look of inquiry, "My parents' androids. Without them, I do not think I would have survived childhood..." _The stink of leather and smoke as the tallest carried her away from the burning wreckage, screaming at it to let go, to disobey orders and turn back... _

Beth's eyes widened, but she decided to stay on-topic, not wanting to bring up any more painful memories. "Ah. And the boys went investigating the deaths."

"They and an Irish gentleman, a Monsieur Stoker."

Beth's jaw fell slowly open and closed just as quickly. "I _see_."

Kitty looked at her curiously. "You have heard of this man? In the future? A good thing I did _not_ finish him, then."

Beth chuckled weakly. "Oh, golly. Goooollyyyyyy. Yeah…" She had to pull herself together and _not_ dissolve into hysterical giggles—Kitty had _no idea_…

Kitty shrugged, choosing not to inquire. "Well, it was a choice between him and Monsieur Holmes. I knew there must be others with them, Dr. Watson perhaps, and I... I simply wanted to make sure they would not follow. I had no desire to kill them; they had brought no stakes, no crosses... I saw the fear in their eyes, but also... curiosity! They did not wish _me_ dead, either, or hate me for what I was. Your husband... he called me 'mam'zelle'. No one had ever called me that before – not _that_ way. He didn't... he didn't _want_ anything from me... except..."

"Except to help."

"One addict to another," Kitty nodded, then blushed as she realised how that must sound, even if Beth did know! "I am sorry, I should not..."

Beth smiled faintly. "No, it's okay, really. He's... _we're_ actually working on that: the syringe, the smoking…" The syringe was ironically the easy part, since he'd let her destroy it and the bottle at Christmas… But he still had all his pipes, and sometimes she'd still find him with one clamped between his teeth, empty and unlit. "It hasn't been easy all the time, but we're working on it."

Kitt smiled. "_Vraiment_? _Ah, c'est bien._ I am very glad, for both your sakes."

"Thank you." Beth sighed, smile fading. "Kitty… I wish I knew what to say. I wish… I wish life weren't so cruel." _I wish you didn't have to fall for someone you couldn't have_. _I wish I didn't know what that feels like_.

"I know. But... it isn't always. The Doctor, too, he wished to help... although I could not bring myself to accept, not then. And I still do not think he would approve of the way I hunt these days, the depraved in place of _les enivrés_." Kitty shrugged. "But I have not yet lost any sleep over them."

Beth opened her mouth, stopped, and frowned, a memory nagging at her mind, Sherlock's recounting to John of his meeting with Mészáros… "Kitty… did you… did you tell the Baron about the Doctor? It's just that… he kind of referred to the Doctor when Sherlock went to meet him."

_Oh, mon Dieu_... "I... may have done? Certain details of our reunion are rather hazy... It is possible that I told him more of what happened during his absence than I realised. And... if that is the case... it is also possible Eduárd thought to obtain that photograph of you ladies... and _la petite_... because of what I could tell him about Monsieur Holmes..."

Beth's frown deepened. "I don't understand."

"I saw more of the real Sherlock Holmes that night than I had ever read in the stories. I shifted to child form before they found me, and... he was so _kind_, so gentle... I might have been his own daughter!" "_She will not harm you, petite, I promise..."_

"Awww." Beth had to pull herself together from her heart having melted for a moment, sighing again. "Don't feel bad, Kitty—what Baron Definitely-Gonna-Get-A-Stake-In-The-Heart does is his responsibility, not yours."

Kitty's lips twitched, amused in spite of herself. "Nevertheless... having once learned of the Doctor, Eduárd will have made it his business to gather whatever intelligence on him that he could – and that information is most likely among his written records, too."

Beth grimaced. "I guess we have to go looking for that, too, then, and get rid of it." She had to stifle a yawn that had sneaked up on her, tired again—four hours of sleep had done very little to make up for a largely sleepless night. "Speaking of doing things…" She twirled her phone around her fingers. "I should probably get back to what I was doing."

"What _do_ you intend to do with..." Kitty trailed off, eyes wide. "Oh no. Beth, _non_! An ordinary photograph is one thing, but this...! If Miss Pemberton sees something this advanced, who knows what she might tell Eduárd!"

"And that'll do… what? Break the Time-Space Continuum?" Beth was smart enough to know it wasn't a _great_ idea, but she didn't think it was dangerous—look at what people like Nikola Tesla and George Westinghouse already knew about the future! "'Show her his cruelty in the present,' that's what Isadora said. That's what I'm gonna do."

Kitty opened her mouth, searching in vain for a better argument, then closed it with a sigh – there was nothing she could say that would dissuade Beth anyhow. "_Bien. Allez._" Mouth quirking at the corners, "Give my regards to Miss Pemberton." She had no problem with Adelaide receiving a sharp wake-up call over the consequences of her own stubbornness, at least.

Beth smirked, grabbing the banister and hoisting herself to her feet. "Will do." She paused, thinking of how Kitty had wanted to see Sherlock… _You sure you wanna do this? Do you ever think you're too nice for your own good? ...I'd rather be too nice than not; I think I can trust her_. "Hey, um… I need to go back in there to get some fresh clothes—" she nodded at the bedroom— "but when I'm done… If… you wanted to sit with Sherlock for a while, that'd be okay. I'd actually feel a lot better having someone there for him when he wakes up."

Kitty's cheeks grew pink again, but smiled gratefully, murmuring, "_Bien sûr._ I would be happy to." _Merde_, if only such a moment could have come sooner...

Smiling back, Beth gently squeezed Kitty's shoulder, doing her best to ignore the odd tightening in her chest. She could worry about that later; right now, she had a job to do.

* * *

Isadora Klein knew that something was wrong as her carriage drew near the Hotel Savoy, like the rumble of thunder almost out of earshot, right at the edge of her senses. As she stepped over the threshold, the storm broke out with a terrific burst of lightning, searing her mind and her heart.

Her protégé, her lover, the greatest of her children and the worst of them all... was very near.

She had felt Eduardo's presence when she'd first arrived in London, and ever since, his nearness had teased at her need for him. She had told the young women at Baker Street—so full of life, so innocent, so _young_—that the bond between sire and spawn was not to be taken lightly. She had not told them how powerful the draw to one's spawn was.

She would not hurry, however, to her rooms, although her sense of her retinue was dim and cause for concern. She would not give him the satisfaction. She was _la dama de Castilla_, and she had known many men before Eduárd Mészáros was born.

And yet it would be foolish not to take precautions. She could not tell Eduardo's mood, nor did she know the extent of his powers now—always learning, that one, collecting dark secrets better left to crumble to dust with the bones of the monsters who created them. She clutched her vial of holy water behind her back as she entered her suite, waving off the hotel attendant with a generous tip. "Carmen?" she called. "Miguel? Alfonso?" She knew they wouldn't answer, but she preferred to call for her loyal staff first.

Then _he_ appeared, in the doorway of her bedroom, looking like the sky after twilight, dark and deep and velvet, and, for one golden moment, she let herself forget that he would shut her up in a glass case with his precious china if he could. It was impossible to tell whether the ache in her chest or the ache between her legs was the more maddening. He was her _corazón oscuro_, and it had been so very long.

And then he bowed, and the moment shattered.

"_Elnézést, anyám._ **1** Your... _attendants_ had the most peculiar objections to my paying my respects." Mészáros's lip curled slightly; Isadora had never liked him calling her staff 'servants', refusing to acknowledge the risks of allowing such chattel a sense of pride.

"I cannot imagine why," she said mildly, arching an eyebrow. "Are they all right?"

He arched an eyebrow back. "Really, madam, you wound me. It would be in rather poor taste to incur the wrath of a queen for so paltry a reason as harming her favourite drones."

"I see that time has not softened your tongue." Confident that he meant no harm to her at the present, she tucked the vial back into her coat and began to unbutton it.

"I seem to recall you telling me, not so many decades ago, that I need not guard it with you." Mészáros smirked as Isabella stashed the vial away. "Do you know, I truly cannot decide whether that is flattering or insulting."

"Whereas I find it amusing that you think it is solely for your benefit, Eduardo." Removing her coat, she set it aside and smoothed out her dress. "Would you care for some Tempranillo?

"_Gracias_." His nostrils quivered as the full liberated scent of her beckoned from across the room. "And which hallowed door have you been charming your way through with that delightful little calling card?"

Isadora went to the sideboard for the Tempranillo, red wine from her homeland. "A lady must have _some_ secrets, _mi corazón oscuro_," she said sweetly. **2** She took the glasses and inclined her head invitingly at the settee, careful to keep the wine from spilling and her skirts from disarray as she sat.

"So true." He sat and accepted a glass, touching it to hers. "_Salud._"

"_Salud_," she echoed, too aware of the scent of his blood now for comfort, too near _him_ for comfort—she could lift her free hand and touch him…

"Although, were I to hazard a guess, I doubt you would outright deny having called at Baker Street this very afternoon. How _does_ the poor man fare?" Badly, if one believed the papers, yet Mészáros had received no reports of any other doctors attending.

Isadora was brought back down to earth, and glad of it. "I am afraid I honestly could not say." It had not escaped her attention at the time that young Elizabeth had never disclosed her husband's condition. A clever and careful girl, that one. "And I must confess to being a little surprised that you do not know yourself, considering the ease with which you have invaded _my_ rooms."

He shrugged. "All in good time. One must sometimes allow one's opponents to cherish certain... illusions."

Isadora smiled mysteriously. "Indeed." Illusions such as the notion that no mere mortals were any match for a vampire… She felt strongly that Mrs. Holmes and quite possibly Kitty Winter as well would be Eduardo's downfall, but she could hardly _say_ that!

"Well, what shall we drink to? Ah, I have it: you have not yet congratulated me on my impending nuptials, _Señora_." Or on any prior to this...

"Ah, yes." Isadora raised her glass. "Congratulations on such a fine catch." She took a sip of her wine before continuing. "And my deepest condolences to your poor bride, whom I have no doubt will be utterly miserable within a month or two." She smiled sweetly, belying her distaste—at least _she_ did her best to handle her lovers with care, and let them down gently when she had to. _At least I do not marry them and give them the illusion of 'forever.'_

Mészáros gave her a dry smile, eyes glinting. "Too kind, madam." He lounged back and sipped his wine. "You'll come to the wedding? My darling Adelaide really must make the acquaintance of dear, doting, eccentrically wealthy Aunt Isadora. After all, you do seem to take such gratifying interest in my _affaires de coeur_."

Isadora's smile turned cold—he'd taken off his gloves and she could do the same. "I make very few mistakes. When I do, I like to keep an eye on them."

"From a plausibly deniable distance, of course!" He tilted his head, considering her. "Or do you now, perhaps... regret not giving me sufficient reason to remain at your side?" The mocking tone softened for a moment. "Or in your bed?"

"I'm sorry that you considered my lovemaking so poor that you would leave it."

A huff of laughter escaped him. "Madam, a man might drink from such a wellspring of passion for a thousand years and never satisfy his thirst." Sardonically, "How the venerable Herr Klein resisted the temptation to exercise his _droit du seigneur_ is beyond my comprehension." The very idea of her in the arms of that human fossil was nauseating, even if nothing had ever happened.

Isadora smirked slightly. "_Estoy seguro_." **3** Her smirk faded and her voice softened in respect for her late husband—not a lover, but a genuine friend for the few short years they'd had together. "Friedrich never cared for such things; he never married as a younger man by choice. This may be equally beyond your comprehension, _mi corazón_, but he wished only for a companion in his declining years."

"And to provide a respectable guardian for any surviving loved ones?" Fortune, possessions, estate...

"Which I was more than happy to become." He needn't make it sound so dirty, as if such things hadn't been happening since marriage was first instituted. "It was an arrangement that satisfied us both."

"A fitting reward for keeping a man's legacy attached to his family name," Mészáros nodded, then sighed faintly. "You made no secret of the fact that you required no consoling for your loss... Could you not have granted me the least particle of hope, dear one? What did Klein possess that I did not?"

She stared at him for a long moment. Even after all this time, she could hardly believe that he could be so brilliant and yet so blind. _How do you excuse yourself of the crimes for which you will never stand trial, mi corazón?_ "A conscience."

Mészáros's expression turned stony, Isadora's words a slap in the face. "Of course. After all, I am only what you, _anyám_, have made me." Like Frankenstein's monster, repulsed by her creation only after she had given it life...

"I did not make you, Eduardo. I granted you more life, I granted you powers you could never have had as a human, but these things do not define you." She didn't know which emotion felt worse: her anger with him… or her grief that he would never change. "You are what you made yourself, _mi corazón_, and my mistake was my arrogance in thinking that I could make you otherwise."

"And there it is, ladies and gentlemen," he said flatly, lip curling, "the closest Señora Isadora Klein will ever come to genuine remorse." His voice became almost a snarl. "You yourself never loved, madam, and you have the effrontery to _pity_ me? Do you dare to imply that any change in me would have sounded the least echo within you?"

"_Sí_, I have loved," she hissed, anger coiling in her gut now. "And—may whatever higher powers exist forgive me—I still do. From the beginning, I made it very clear to you that you would not be my only lover, _mi corazón_—and yet you took it as a _challenge_."

He laughed bitterly. "You expected otherwise? Of _me_?"

"I _hoped_. And even after I understood better, I could have resigned myself to the games you played, but, no, of course you wanted more. If you think that my arms have not ached to hold you again, then you do not know me as well as you think, Eduardo. But to marry you would have been to surrender myself to your control—" she straightened and lifted her chin, generations of Castilian nobility settling around her shoulders like a mantle— "and I am Isadora María Alejandra Rodríguez de la Vega de la Castilla: I belong to no man."

The Baron's eyes flashed with anger – and something more. "_Istenem_..." he murmured. **4** Even while nursing wounded pride, he couldn't help but acknowledge the sheer magnificence of her. "And I am a man of considerable patience, my lady, as _you_ know well." He rose from the couch, bowed over her hand. "This dance of ours continues, it seems."

She looked at him for a long moment, emotions suddenly too tangled to unravel. Most humans didn't understand hate, not really—they confused hatred with disgust and repulsion. Isadora knew the truth: you could not hate someone had you not loved them first.

At last, quietly: "Stay with me tonight." _Don't leave me, not now_. _One last time_.

Mészáros's smile was almost tender as he kissed her fingers. "I think not, my lady, tempting as it is. I fear that the knowledge of your duplicity would prove too great a distraction from the rest of you." He had no doubt the offer was sincere, but that only made accepting it now all the more unwise. "_Viszontlátásra._" **5 **

She brushed her fingers across his face, memorising the way he felt, the way he looked right now… "_Buenas tardes_, _mi corazón oscuro_."

He closed his eyes for a moment at her touch, skin tingling... then turned away, expression turning to stone again. After all, she had plenty of other spawn for 'company', once they regained consciousness... Opening the balcony door, he walked out onto it, his body becoming mist and vanishing on the wind.

1 My apologies, my mother.

2 My dark heart.

3 I'm sure.

4 My God...

5 Goodbye / until next time.

* * *

**Sky:** Did you miss us? *shark grin*

Okay, okay, so the delay is my fault. I've had this big A/N that I've been wanting to do and it's taken me weeks to get it done because work has been all but literal hell this summer. Hashtag Sorry Not Sorry? Look, guys, it's not my fault that most days I can barely string two sentences together on my own.

Anyhoo, Isadora! Oh my gosh, where to begin?! ...let's start with Kitty. When we said goodbye to "Madame" in the season 1 finale, Ria and I couldn't quite let go of her—we have a soft spot for tragic antagonists, what can we say? But originally, when we were planning to bring her back at some point, even if only offscreen, we were going to make her Isadora Klein. Because if you could make a list of characters in the Canon who _could_ be vampires, Adelbert Gruner and Isadora Klein would be right on top. But then we decided to adapt ILLU, and Ria had the idea to make "Madame" Kitty instead of Isadora. Isadora, on the other hand, could be Mészáros's sire.

Isadora was originally supposed to be not much better of a person than her spawn, but then I actually started _writing_ her, and almost right away, Isadora became a little bit more like Your Friendly Neighborhood Vampire. I think it was her shared heritage with Beth that kind of sealed the deal for me. When Isadora makes a snide aside in Spanish and Beth catches her out on it, in her own language, it's something like a bonding moment. (I'm actually half-Venezuelan myself; that was an important moment for me.)

A sidebar: Isadora _is_ actually older than the modern nation of Spain. When she states her full name, Isadora María Alejandra Rodríguez de la Vega de la Castilla, her father's and mother's surnames make up her own, and she identifies herself as belonging to Castile, a kingdom which predated Spain (A.D. 1469) and lent its name to "proper" Spanish (Spanish as it's spoken in Spain as opposed to Latin America). When we were first developing her, I almost wanted to make her Catalan—Catalonia's attempts at secession were in the news at the time. Yes, that's how long we've been working on this story. But then I felt uncomfortable with my own idea—using a real people's identity primarily because they were big in the international news for a fictional character didn't sit well with me, and I decided to play it safe and make her Castilian.

Which reminds me: our sincerest apologies if we've gotten any of our translations wrong! This is by far the most multilingual story we've written (3 non-English languages represented: French, Castilian Spanish, and Hungarian!), and we've relied very heavily on working Google Translate until it gives us a result that sounds like it's got the right connotations. But while Ria has experience in French and I have experience (however rusty) in Spanish, Hungarian was totally new to us, and, again, our sincerest apologies if we've messed anything up!

Last but not least? I've really LOVED all the Spanish I've gotten to use in this story! It's been years since I was studying the language regularly (I miss Rosetta Stone!), but I've never stopped loving it. Spanish is just a beautiful language, and writing this fic actually helped me connect a little more to that side of my family tree again, too.


	10. Persephone Still Standing

**=Chapter 10=**

**Persephone Still Standing**

_You, he said, are a terribly real thing in a terribly false world, and that, I believe, is why you are in so much pain._

– Emilie Autumn, The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls

Mindful not only of what had happened to Sherlock but also what had happened to _her_ the last time she had gone alone in a cab, Beth asked the Irregulars to escort her to the Pembertons. Paul went the extra mile and got ahold of a driver he knew, even going so far as to talk the man down in price for the amount of time they'd need him.

At last, Beth was standing outside the Pembertons' fine home and shivering in the cold, waiting for the response to the doorbell. After a small eternity, the door opened a crack, a security chain across the gap, and she could see a man on the other side. "Yes?" he asked.

Beth had to remind herself to stand straight and not hunch over in the chill. "Hello. I am Elizabeth Holmes, and I'm here to speak with General Pemberton." She slipped one of Sherlock's calling cards through the crack.

The man's eyes widened. A moment later, he turned towards someone inside and called, "Mr. Benson?"

"Mrs. Holmes?" she heard an older man's voice say. The chain was unhooked, and the door opened a fraction wider. "Madam," the man, probably the butler, continued, "I… I regret to inform you that the General is not at home just at present." He looked mortified. "I shall certainly give him your card when he returns…"

It was the pause that told Beth that he was lying, and the embarrassment that it wasn't his idea. "My husband was nearly killed last night trying to protect your mistress," she bit out, "so yes, I think that the General is _absolutely_ home. Now, I can come in _now_... or I can leave and come back in half an hour with a police escort."

Benson swallowed hard, well able to imagine what the General would have to say about that! Besides, he couldn't deny a profound sense of relief at having a plausible excuse for disobeying orders. Opinion might be divided among the servants over Miss Adelaide's fiancé, but learning of the attack on the Great Detective had been as much of a blow below stairs as for the master. He nodded to young Crowther, who moved aside, opening the door all the way.

Beth softened her voice a little. "Thank you." She stepped inside, grateful to be out of the evening air, and let Benson help her with her hat and coat, handing them to the other man (footman? she needed to do better learning how a wealthy house worked).

"If you will come this way, madam?" Benson placed the card on a salver, and led the way to the library, knocking gently.

"Come." General Pemberton looked up from his reading as the butler entered. "What is it, Benson?"

Benson came forward with the salver. "A lady has called to see you, sir."

Pemberton knitted his brows. "Benson, I gave strict instructions, did I not? No callers tonight, no well-wishers, and especially no more agents."

"A Mrs. _Holmes_, sir." Benson inwardly winced at his master's sharp intake of breath. "I am afraid she was most insistent."

"...where have you put her?"

Beth decided that was her cue and strode into the library, putting on her best businesslike voice. "Right here, sir. My apologies for the intrusion." She held out her hand to the thunderstruck general. "Elizabeth Holmes."

Pemberton took her hand mechanically and bowed over it, striving to pull himself together. "General Josiah Pemberton, at your service, madam. Thank you, Benson, you may go."

"Very good, sir."

If only the General knew how weak Beth's stomach felt at the moment, he might feel himself on surer ground. Barging into someone's home required a special kind of audacity she could only fake, not feel. "I'm sorry for intruding on your evening like this, General, but I needed to speak with you, and I need to speak with your daughter."

The General arched his brows at the first demand, but frowned at the second. "Out of the question. You may say whatever you wish to me, Mrs. Holmes, but I have given Adelaide my word that she will endure no further humiliations of this sort."

And just like that, the butterflies in Beth's stomach were gone. "What is your daughter's comfort against her life?" she said sharply. "A man was _murdered_ last night, sir, a man who was helping my husband in his investigation against the Baron. We are very far past niceties now."

"Dear God..." Face ashen, Pemberton sat down heavily in the nearest chair, without even thinking to offer his guest one.

"My husband nearly—" Beth faltered, almost choking on the words— "nearly died last night, as well, and he might still." At least that much wasn't a lie: the Baron was much more dangerous in reality than his fictional counterpart had been. "Eduárd Mészáros represents a clear and present danger, and shielding Miss Pemberton from discomfort will not save her."

Pemberton flushed, but made himself look up at her, embarassment warring with fear and anguish. "I had intended to contact you in due course, madam, to express my deepest regrets for your husband's misfortune. As Mr. Holmes was still acting on behalf of my daughter and myself at the time, whatever medical expenses may be incurred, I beg that you will allow me to accept that responsibility in full." He'd still had hope, after withdrawing his opposition, that Holmes might yet uncover something he could deny all knowledge of to Adelaide... a hope which the morning papers had swiftly crushed. Mészáros had played him expertly, yes indeed, knowing that a father's cowardice and desperate optimism would lead him to retreat from the fight at precisely the wrong moment!

Beth hesitated, not sure what Sherlock would think of that. "I will... get back to you on that—wait a minute, 'at the time'?" She raised both eyebrows. "Sir, this is an ongoing investigation. The case is _not_ closed, and when it is, you will not be the one to close it because you didn't hire us." _Don't go further, don't project, he's not your father… No, but he _is_ a father, and his daughter is in danger_. "And I want to know why," she said quietly. "Why was my brother-in-law the one to do that?"

The General sighed, now deeply regretting inviting Beth to speak freely. "I confess, madam, Adelaide having closed her ears to all warnings from those who wished her well, I had hoped – foolishly, perhaps – that my daughter would discover for herself that she had made a mistake before any official announcement. Women's hearts and minds are – as I am sure you are aware! – often insoluble puzzles to the male sex. Murder might be condoned or explained, and yet some smaller offence might rankle. But, alas, Adelaide's affections only strengthened with time, and when the engagement notice was published, Mr. Mycroft Holmes informing me two days later that your husband had accepted the case seemed a godsend. Ought I to have inquired more closely into what now appeared to be a matter of international proportions?" Heaven knew what had prompted intervention from Whitehall, he wasn't at all certain he wished to know...

Beth stared at him in disbelief and anger, although a tiny part of her was glad to know that the nonsense about female emotions hadn't come from Sherlock this time. "That is not what I meant, and you know it. You're her _father_." _It would be so nice to come across just one father who _isn't_ John Watson who actually takes his responsibilities as a parent seriously_. "Where, _sir_, have you been in all this?"

Pemberton tried to hide his flinch of guilt with a haughty stare. "It may be difficult for you to believe, madam, but I have only ever desired the best for my daughter. Since Adelaide is still firmly set upon this course, in spite of all that I have said to her, there has been little alternative left to me but to support her in it. If I did not..." He couldn't conceal an involuntary shudder. "She has already threatened to leave before the wedding and..." No, best not to mention _that_... "and stay at a hotel. Not nearly as scandalous as living at Vernon Lodge, I grant, but I should still feel far more easy in my mind if she remained in her own home for the duration." Thus greatly reducing the risk of improper goings-on!

Beth deliberately folded her arms over her chest, knowing that posture was considered unfeminine in this era, and nodded slowly, chalking up this conversation as a loss. "I need to see her."

Pemberton shook his head regretfully. "Even if I were to consent, Mrs. Holmes, she would not. Pray do not misunderstand me, the news of the attack gave her no pleasure, but... neither, I fear, did she greatly sympathise. Miss Winter's accusations against the Baron..."

"Were the absolute truth," Beth said coolly, "and Adelaide needed to hear it, just as she needs to hear me now. We can do this the easy way, or I can—and _will_—come back with a detective inspector." Geoffrey would help her if she asked, she was sure of it.

"Er, Miss Pemberton, a moment?" came the footman's voice from outside the door, low but urgent, and Pemberon rose from his seat as if electrified. "The master..."

"_Thank_ you, Crowther," Adelaide returned calmly, but with an undertone of steel. "I will see my father now."

"Yes, my lady."

Pemberton winced as Adelaide knocked, the sharp sound conveying her displeasure. "Come in, my dear."

Relieved and careful not to show it, Beth unfolded her arms and turned to face the door as the other woman came in.

"I hope I'm not interrupting, Papa," Adelaide said sweetly. "We have a guest?" And... this young lady seemed barely out of the schoolroom, why had Benson been so evasive just now?

"Elizabeth Holmes," Beth answered, holding out her hand. "Adelaide Pemberton, I presume? How do you do?"

Adelaide stared – _this_ was Mrs. Sherlock Holmes?! Inwardly fuming at the good breeding which dictated that she shake hands, she took Beth's gingerly. "Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Holmes. Won't you please be seated?"

Beth had difficulty biting back a smirk, knowing that for a long time to come, people would expect 'Mrs. Holmes' to be older. "Thank you, but I was hoping to speak with you privately."

"Mrs. Holmes..." Pemberton interjected, painfully aware of how feeble he sounded in front of his daughter.

Beth looked back at him over her shoulder, feeling a faint stir of pity for him. He hadn't handled this situation well, but it was a nightmare nevertheless for him to be living. "I'm sorry, sir, but what I have to say and show is for your daughter's ears and eyes alone."

"Now, just one moment!"

Adelaide looked speakingly at the ceiling. "Papa," she said firmly. "If you tell me that this visit was none of your doing, I will believe you." Her father had promised only this morning not to interfere any more, and he never broke promises lightly.

The General nodded stiffly, looking inordinately relieved. "It was not."

"Very well. In any case, there are certain things I would wish to learn from her. Please do as she asks."

"...As you wish." Pemberton nodded to Beth, hardly daring to acknowledge the faint hope growing in his breast. "Mrs. Holmes..."

"General."

Once her father had left the room, Adelaide gestured invitingly at the sofa, sitting beside Beth. "I must apologise for not joining you earlier, Mrs. Holmes. Six weeks seems such a long time, and yet the available moments for preparation slip by so unaccountably." _And I _am_ marrying Edu__á__rd, and there's _nothing_ you can do about it, so there!_ "I hope you are well?"

"Not strictly speaking, no." Victorian manners were funny sometimes; Beth had full dark rings under her eyes and anybody back home—back in her time—would be asking her if she was okay and what was wrong. "What was it you wanted me to tell you?"

Adelaide bit her lip, suddenly hesitant now that the usual well-rehearsed niceties were over with. "Mrs. Holmes... you seem to me a woman who prefers plain speech, so I will not mince words, either. Whatever my opinion of your husband may be –" and whether or not she'd secretly exulted in his misfortune so soon after her own humiliation! "Eduárd and I were both greatly concerned over the possible fate of his... companion of last night, a Miss Kitty Winter. Tell me, Mrs. Holmes, I beg you: do you know what became of her?"

Beth blinked. "Kitty?" Why on earth was Adelaide asking after her? "She's… she's safe. Shaken, and upset, but safe." Maybe Mészáros could guess that Kitty was at 221B, but Beth was not about to give that information freely.

Adelaide clasped her hands together, letting out the breath she'd been holding.

Beth shook her head in confusion. "Why do you ask? If she told you last night what I think she did, I wouldn't think you'd want anything to do with her."

"How could I _not_ feel for her, the poor, mad creature? Eduárd has told me everything. Oh, it was wicked of your husband to take advantage of her in such a way, madam, and you ought not to have stood for it!" Seeing Beth frown, Adelaide's voice grew softer. "Or, perhaps... you didn't know? No, no, I quite understand – the poor girl spoke of her imagined sufferings with such conviction..." She shivered, Kitty's words had lost very little of their sting since last night.

Beth wasn't sure what to respond to first. "...'imagined'... You think Kitty Winter… is _insane?!_"

Adelaide nodded, shamefaced. "And I was _horrid_ to her when she came to see me... I all but had her thrown out of the house!" _Miss Winter's eyes blazing in her white face, lips trembling in rage..._ "Will you... will you have the goodness to tell her, Mrs. Holmes, how truly sorry I am for having treated her so cruelly?"

Beth massaged her forehead with a laughing groan. "Baron: 2, Baker Street: 0," she muttered. "Adelaide—please call me Beth—if you want to apologize to Kitty, I'm afraid you're going to have to do that yourself and in full possession of the facts." She straightened and looked the other girl straight in the eye. "Kitty Winter is entirely sane, and what she told you was the absolute truth." Her tone hardened. "The thing is, I have been used by men, as well, and I know how that sits in a heart."

Adelaide's hand went to her heart, eyes wide with horror and sympathy. "Oh, Mrs. Holmes... Beth... I am _so_ sorry..." Somehow, she didn't doubt that Beth was telling the truth about herself, at least. "And your compassion towards Miss Winter does you the greatest credit, I honour you for it. Perhaps... perhaps being treated so in the past was the very thing which drove her to madness, who can say? But that is why you must give her up, find a doctor who can give a proper diagnosis." Doctor Watson could hardly be qualified to give an opinion in such matters. "I agree that Eduárd should have no more personal involvement in the matter, it would only distract the poor girl from her recovery."

Beth raised both eyebrows. "Why should he be involved at all with Kitty?"

"He hasn't been," Adelaide responded, slightly sharper than she'd intended. "That is, Eduárd told me he simply brought her from Paris to London for treatment, but she ran away." Only, now that she came to actually _tell_ someone... weren't there institutions in France, too?

Beth's eyebrows hiked higher. "Interesting," she said mildly. "How did he meet her?"

"He didn't say – and I had no need to ask, thank you kindly! I trust Eduárd, he would have told me if there was more to the affair..." Adelaide flushed as she realised just how that had sounded. "The business, I mean."

"Adelaide," Beth began gently, "I'm sorry to have to press this point, but Kitty _is_ a prostitute. She's made no secret of that. At the very least, I think that's something worth checking into further. There aren't a whole lot of ways a nobleman and a prostitute end up knowing each other." How the zed was it possible for love to be this blind?

"How _dare_ you?!" Adelaide rose to her feet, cheeks now scarlet. "As if it wasn't bad enough having to listen to such vile aspersions on my fiancé's character the first time! At least Miss Winter deserves no blame for her demented ravings... but _you_, madam!" Her lip curled in disgust. "To think I felt sorry for you over your husband – and here you are, doing his dirty work for him!"

Beth's gut burned, and she reined in her temper with difficulty. "I am _trying_ to save your life, because, yes, I do believe you are in danger, and because my husband was nearly murdered last night for doing the same, _and_ he still might die. Kitty almost died, and her escort? The man who brought her to Sherlock in the first place... His name was Shinwell Johnson and _he_ _did die_."

Adelaide's hand flew to her mouth, sinking back down onto the sofa. "...no..."

"They weren't together," Beth continued, with difficulty. She didn't want to _think_ about this, much less be talking about it—she still felt dangerously close to snapping and running off to stake Mészáros. "They had already parted and were on their separate ways home. Sherlock was… Sherlock was attacked and beaten within an inch of his life. The Baron attacked Kitty and Johnson personally, and Johnson was murdered while protecting her."

"_No! _No, it's not true, Eduárd would _never_...!" Adelaide couldn't even make herself say the words.

"I'm sorry, Adelaide, I really am, but it _is_ true. Sherlock goes to the Baron's home two days ago to meet him; Mészáros threatens him, and then the very next day, Sherlock is beaten almost to death. Even without Kitty's testimony, that puts Mészáros right at the top of the list of suspects in any reasonable investigation. This isn't prejudice, this isn't slander, there is no reason for any of us to lie about this." Ignoring the older girl's blazing eyes and clenched fists, Beth pulled out her phone and turned it on, pulling up the first photo and holding the phone up so Adelaide could see.

Whatever Adelaide might have said next was forgotten on seeing the strange, sleek object which Beth took out of her pocket, she'd never seen anything like it – the glossy white case looked almost like porcelain, her fingers itching to touch it. Her mouth fell open as the black window in front lit up with colour, leaning in for a closer look... then flinched backwards with a gasp at the image before her eyes, feeling faint. "Oh my God!" Her stomach roiled, she had never seen anything so ghastly in her life... _Could_ that be the same man who had visited her in perfect health only yesterday?

Beth tried to swallow the sudden lump in her throat and had to close her eyes against the equally-sudden tears, her voice thick with them. "The cab he was in… someone inside just… _dumped him into the road_." _Her heart skipping beats, her body shaking uncontrollably as she reached him lying there, how seeing him in better lighting at the hospital had made her heart hurt even more, and she still hadn't spoken with him since that stupid argument…._ "Like he was a _thing_." Vision blurring, she swiped her screen for the second photo, this one taken much closer, a head-and-shoulders shot.

"_Oh!_" Adelaide tore her gaze away and bowed her head, tears falling onto trembling fingers. How _could_ she have felt even a moment of joy at something so horrible?

Beth lowered the phone and turned it off. "Adelaide," she started slowly, "I'm not going to lie to you—I was _furious_." Once her terror had faded… "I wanted… I wanted to tear to pieces anyone and everyone who had a hand in hurting him like this. But even... even in feeling like Death had chewed him up and spit him back out... Sherlock was still concerned for _you_." Stupidly noble knight in shining armor that he was. "For what the emotional consequences could be for you... if we're right. If we're right and we succeed. He was concerned for you." And if only she could have heard it...

"_If I had a daughter of my own..."_ Adelaide covered her mouth again as a sob welled up, her mind in turmoil. "And... and you think... _Eduárd_...?! No!" The man who had so tenderly mended the rift between her and her father, who treated her with the same care and reverence as a porcelain vase... "No, I can't believe it, I can't! I _won't_! It's impossible!"

Beth tried to keep the desperation out of her voice, but she wasn't sure she'd succeeded. "I know, I know it's hard, but, Adelaide, you're smart—_think!_ Sherlock has had only one other real case in the past two _months_ because the police were giving him a break…" Her breath hitched treacherously. "And that case was wrapped up neatly back in November! There is no reason why _anyone_ should be actively doing my husband harm right now. No one except the Baron. I _know_ you don't want to believe it... but you at least need to start _thinking_ about it." She stashed her phone away and pulled out an envelope with a printed photo inside—one she'd talked Sally into letting her borrow—and held the picture out to Adelaide.

"W-what?" Adelaide blinked, looking closer. "Is that... Mrs. Watson with you?" Smiling through her tears, "Oh, and that _dear_ baby!" She looked back up at Beth in returning confusion – what did _this_ have to do with Eduárd?

Beth bit her lip—she still could hardly believe that _Kathy_ was threatened, too. "Yes, that's Sally Watson, and little Kathy. This photograph was put in Sherlock's pocket before he was... deposited... on Baker Street last night. We weren't aware at all that it was being taken, at the time."

Adelaide paled, fingers tightening on the photograph. Her gaze returned against her will to the picture, looking closer at the background. "...Whitehall..."

Beth nodded. "Whitehall," she said softly. "Adelaide, it wasn't your father who hired us—it was the British government. You can go ask him yourself if you don't believe me. And this picture... was taken two days ago: the _same morning_ Sherlock was asked to take the case."

Adelaide bit her lip, troubled gaze returning to the picture – it was clear that the girls were just getting out of the carriage... and no trace of fear or distress on their faces, only excitement... She shivered, suddenly feeling very cold despite the warmth of the fire.

"Adelaide," Beth continued gently, "I know we're asking you to believe something horrible. I wish we didn't have to, I really do." Especially now, having met her in person... "And the fact is: we don't have any hard evidence—it's certainly not enough to convict anyone. Finding it is a work in progress." She took a deep breath, aware of the depth of what she was about to ask of the other girl, and exhaled. "And I think that you should do the same."

Adelaide stared. "_I_? But..."

She really looked like a deer caught in the headlights. "Like it or not," Beth said seriously, "there are some very grave accusations being leveled against your fiancé, and they might develop into actual criminal charges. Now, I mean, if it was me, I'd be looking to prove my fiancé innocent. Don't take my word for it, don't take Sherlock's or Kitty's or even the Baron's—find out the truth yourself." Surely there was _some_ way of digging up the truth that wouldn't put Adelaide in danger, or at least no more danger than she was already in.

"Oh!" Adelaide flinched, Beth's words like a slap in the face. "N-no, _please_, you don't understand – how _can_ you?!" Mr. Holmes might very well wish for a wife with a suspicious turn of mind, but if Eduárd knew his bride-to-be was even entertaining such thoughts against him, he'd be _so_ disappointed and angry! What if... what if he called off the wedding because of her shameful lack of faith in him?!

Beth's heart ached for the other girl; she looked so scared. "Honey, if he loves you—if he really loves you—he'd forgive you for it. Wouldn't you do the same for him?"

Adelaide blinked – she hadn't thought of it like that! – then nodded jerkily, face twisting. She hated even the thought of doing _anything_ to require forgiveness from the man she loved, it had been hard enough getting a mild scolding from him over losing her temper with her father!

Beth hesitated, then reached out and took Adelaide's hand gently, comfortingly. "Adelaide, please believe me when I say I wish you didn't have to face this." _I can't even imagine how I would react to these things being said about Sherlock_. "Life, unfortunately, can be very cruel. And, sometimes, you have to do things you wouldn't otherwise dream of doing for the people you love. I took a bullet for my husband once. What are you willing to do for yours?"

A _bullet_?! Adelaide stared at Beth in abject horror. 'In sickness and in health', indeed! But... if this union was truly meant to be... how could she _not_ be prepared to sacrifice as much? She looked down at hers and Beth's hands, unable to manage more than a whisper: "I... I don't know..."

Beth squeezed the other girl's hand gently but said nothing. She had nothing more _to_ say; it was up to Adelaide now.

"...You must think me so foolish..."

"I don't," Beth said quietly. "I really don't. I think you're someone who, through no fault of her own, has wound up in an impossible situation. There are no easy solutions here."

"No... Please, I must ask for a little more time to... to think over what you've said. Meanwhile..." taking a deep breath, "you may rely on my discretion, at least. Eduárd needn't know that you came to see me."

Well, since she'd brought it up… "But what if he finds out anyway? What will you tell him?"

Adelaide smiled faintly. "That I didn't believe you – it is true, isn't it?" Although the thought of telling him even a half-truth was distasteful. Once this was all over, she vowed to herself, she would confess everything and beg his forgiveness.

Beth's lips twitched; she wanted to hope that she'd gotten through to Adelaide but she didn't dare. "I guess so. Thank you." _...forgetting something, are we?_ "Oh! I'm sorry, I almost forgot: do you have any idea if the Baron might be leaving the country soon? Say, on any sort of business trip?"

"Leaving?" Adelaide frowned. "Well, I do know he has business interests abroad... but no, the only journey we've discussed has been the honeymoon!"

Beth nodded slowly. "I just… have reason to believe that he might be going abroad soon. Alone." She paused. "Do you know what kind of luggage he travels with? Any books?"

"_I_ don't know," Adelaide retorted tetchily, "I didn't look through his suitcase on the cruise! Oh, but he does bring his porcelain with him." She had to smile at the memory. "He actually gave a little symposium in the saloon one evening, showed us some of his pieces from the hold – it was fascinating!" And afterwards...

Beth couldn't help smiling a little. "I'll bet—must have been quite a sight to see." She sighed softly, feeling awkward. "Would you... would you please do me a favour... and let me know if he does end up planning a business trip?"

"I... suppose?" Well, what harm could that do, after all? "Yes, yes, I'll... be sure to send word..." Right after she'd given the wretched man a piece of her mind for taking a leave of absence at the worst possible time!

"Thank you. And thank you for hearing me out. I know it wasn't easy."

Adelaide gave Beth the 'you have _no_ idea' face, then looked away, ashamed of herself – Beth obviously did mean well, and she ought to be grateful for that, at least. "Oh..." She hadn't realised till just now how late it was. "Will you... be all right getting home? I can order the carriage for you."

Beth smiled, touched. "Oh no, thank you. It's all right, I came with friends—they're waiting outside."

"All right." Adelaide rose with Beth, adding awkwardly, "Well, I... shall bid you a good evening, then. The footman will show you out."

"Thank you. You have a good evening, too." On an impulse, Beth reached out again to grasp both Adelaide's hands. "Adelaide, whatever happens… I want you to know that I wish you all the happiness in the world." She could say that sincerely now that she'd met her—'Violet de Merville' wasn't just a character in a story anymore, but a living, breathing person in trouble.

"Th-thank you. Please... give Miss Winter and Mr. Holmes my... my condolences. I hope he will recover." If only for Beth's sake...

Beth's smile turned sad, chest tightening a little. "I will, thanks."

* * *

**Ria:** I'm glad we were able to flesh Adelaide out into a more three-dimensional character. The original Violet could just as easily be replaced with a cardboard cut-out, although Abigail Cruttenden brought her to life rather well in the Granada version – you can tell by her faintly petulant tone that she's secretly glad at poor Sherlock's misfortune! At least our incarnation is already starting to do some much-needed growing up...

**Sky: **And speaking of growing up, I just... really loved writing Beth in this chapter, getting a significant glance at the person she's growing into, not unlike the original cartoon version... Beth is figuring out that she's not great at subtlety or lying, so she's instead taking that brutal honesty that's gotten her into conflict with Sherlock before and weaponizing it. And in an era in which facades are very important, the truth can be an extremely powerful weapon.


	11. Battleground

**==Chapter 11=**

**Battleground**

_That was how dishonesty and betrayal started, not in big lies but in small secrets._

– Amy Tan, The Bonesetter's Daughter

Adelaide remained by the fire in the library after Beth had left, her thoughts mostly chasing themselves in circles... but gradually making up her mind that if there was one thing that would not save Eduárd from prison, it was her own inaction. At the very least, it would do no harm to follow one of Beth's suggestions: asking her father if Mr. Holmes _was_ working on behalf of the government – he might even be able to tell her more than Beth could. In her reverie, she barely heard the library door reopening, but finally became aware of footsteps behind her. "Papa," she said firmly as she turned, "I must ask you..." She gasped. "Eduárd!"

Mészáros smiled his apology. "Forgive me for startling you, love." He took her hand and kissed it.

She put her other hand on her pounding heart with a shaky laugh. "Dearest, you really must stop walking in unannounced! The footmen won't know what to do with themselves."

The Baron chuckled, nostrils flaring at the scent of her excited blood, her heart pumping loudly. Scarcely aware of what he was doing, he drew her closer to him, eager to have her in his arms, she looked so lovely this evening… "Ah, _kincsem_, I forget all else when I am in haste to see you."

"Oh, Eduárd..." After the events of the last twenty-four hours, she would have liked nothing better than to just sink into his arms and stop _thinking_ for a while.

"Adelaide," he murmured. He wound one arm around her and lifted his free hand to stroke her cheek with the backs of his fingers, feeling her shiver at his touch. "You are perfection." He kissed her forehead, as he had done before, paused, and bent down to kiss her lips, drinking in her sweetness.

She gasped softly as his lips met hers, returning the kiss ardently, hand resting on his chest – he'd _never_ kissed her like this before, and she'd been waiting so long...

His fingers travelled down her cheek to her neck as he trembled with desire, not only for her lovely body but also for her young blood. He had to force himself to calm: if he lost control now, he would not be able to undo anything, and he'd played this game so carefully and patiently… He broke off the kiss and rested his forehead against hers, his hand still resting on her neck, her pulse throbbing against his fingers. "_Ó, drágám, mit teszel hozzám!_" he breathed. **1** "Forgive me, _kincsem_, I could not resist …"

Adelaide drew a trembling breath, trying to gather her scattered thoughts. "So I see," she murmured impishly. "Indeed, it seems you cannot last half a day without me!"

Mészáros chuckled again, both at her playfulness and at her own obvious desire. "Indeed, I cannot." He ran his fingertips deliberately down past her collarbone, down her breast, before withdrawing his hand. "Six weeks have never seemed so long."

"_Eduárd!_" she gasped, clutching at his hand. "Behave yourself, sir, or I shall have you shown the door again!" Although Adelaide hoped she sounded far more scandalised than she _felt_ just now...

He smirked unrepentantly, hearing the rise in her heartbeat again, only his impressive self-control keeping him from… defying… her rather thoroughly. "Yes, milady." He raised her hand to his lips again in token apology and drew her to the sofa with him. "Speaking of the door, who was the young lady I saw leaving just now?"

Adelaide's insides twisted in guilt and alarm. Had Eduárd been close enough to see Beth's face? Did he even know what she looked like... _as the photograph insinuates that he might?_ She sternly squashed the whispering thought, and opted for honesty, she'd been silent too long already. "It was Mrs. Holmes, love. I confess, I hesitated to tell you because I feared you might be angry with Papa, just as I was. But he swore to me that her visit was none of his doing, and I believe him." _It's not lying, it's not, you're just not telling him everything – yet._

Mészáros frowned, not at the identity of the girl—he had recognised her immediately from his own conveyance—but at his fiancée's hesitance. "I see. What did she want? To continue her husband's meddling?" He hadn't expected so bold a move from such a young girl. "How is Mr. Holmes? Did you ask after Kitty Winter?"

"Good gracious, Eduárd!" Adelaide laughed in surprise. "Do allow me a moment to answer you!"

"Really, _kinscem_, are the answers themselves so difficult?"

Adelaide gave him an odd look, she'd never seen him so... _agitated_ before over anything. "Well, no..." Perhaps it was his concern for Miss Winter that moved him so. She gave his hand a comforting squeeze. "And yes, I did inquire about Miss Winter. It seems she narrowly escaped the same fate as Mr. Holmes, Mrs. Holmes assured me she is safe. I am afraid, however, she does not believe that Miss Winter is mad – she would not listen to a word I said on that point, or any other."

"I don't doubt it." His mouth tightened to a grim line for a moment as he considered how best to proceed. "What did she come here for? To spew much the same venom as her husband did?"

"I'm afraid so," Adelaide nodded sadly, blinking back tears as the horror of what Beth had shown her returned in a rush. "Oh, but Eduárd, I couldn't help pitying the poor creature! Her husband is gravely ill, she fears for his life... A woman in such distress might say anything, I am sure."

Mészáros's frown deepened—this newfound empathy for the Holmeses was unexpected and unwelcome. "What _did_ she say?"

Adelaide bit her lip, forcing the words out. "That she suspects... that you ordered the attack on Mr. Holmes and Miss Winter."

"But she has no actual proof."

"Well, of course not! How could she?" Anyone could have taken that photograph...

Mészáros smiled. "No, of course, she could not." More importantly, Elizabeth Holmes had clearly given Adelaide nothing that could engender doubt in her mind. "But her husband is a very clever and determined man, and I would not put it past him to manufacture evidence if he was desperate enough."

The sudden coldness in those dark eyes made Adelaide shiver. She nodded slowly, almost wishing Eduárd had never confessed anything to her of his past. "He certainly did so with Miss Winter..."

"Ah yes, Miss Winter." He blamed himself, really—he should have taken care of the wretched girl long before now. "Where _is_ she, do you know?"

"No, Mrs. Holmes said only that she was safe – which could mean she's at Baker Street, I suppose." _"__There aren't a whole lot of ways a nobleman and a prostitute end up knowing each other..."_ "Eduárd, if I may ask... how did she come to fall in love with you? Not that I blame her at all!" she added hastily, trying to sound roguish. "But where did you meet?"

Why on earth was she bringing that up again? Hadn't they settled that? "I told you already, _kincsem_: we met in Paris."

"Love, I don't wish to trap you," she said soothingly. Was it merely her imagination... or was there a faintly defensive note in his voice? "You told me your connection with her was entirely innocent, and I believe you. I should simply like to hear the story."

His eyes narrowing, he made his tone even more soothing, more mesmerizing, as he began to put the slightest pressure on her mind. "There is no story, _kincsem_. We met in Paris; that is all."

"Paris..." Adelaide murmured dazedly, then blinked, shaking her head. "Oh, my goodness – I didn't realise I was so tired! I'm sorry, dearest, do go on. Where in Paris did you say?"

Mészáros cursed inwardly—_why_ hadn't he thought to develop a proper story for Chaton? _But my explanation this morning should have been enough; this is the young Mrs. Holmes's doing_. He increased the pressure on Adelaide's mind, willing her to believe him. "Adelaide," he murmured, "look into my eyes. It does not matter, _drágám_."

Adelaide's eyes began to glaze over, frowning slightly. "It... doesn't?"

"No, of course not," he soothed, before making his tone more authoritative. "You will put Kitty Winter out of your head."

"...why? I thought... _Oh_..." Adelaide put a hand to her head, which was growing heavier by the second, a band of iron seeming to lie across her temples. "Darling," she said faintly, "could you ring the bell? I suddenly have _such_ a headache..."

He stroked her hair with a gentleness he did not quite feel. "Shh, shh, _kincsem_, let go. Just let go."

She stared up at him in confusion and alarm through the fog and increasing pain – why wasn't he calling anyone? "...Eduárd? Please..." Her voice had dwindled to a choked whisper. "_Help me..." _She drew a trembling breath to call out, surely one of the servants would hear...

"It's all right, _kincsem_." He drew her back into his arms, stroking her back soothingly now, intent on sending her to sleep, and kissed her forehead. "You will be all right. I'm here. Trust me."

His lips on her forehead and fingers on her back made her shiver again, but not in pleasure this time, her flesh was suddenly, inexplicably _crawling_... but without his strong arms supporting her, she would be falling forward onto the carpet, and it just seemed so much _easier_ right now to rest her pounding head on his chest and let her eyes close...

He sighed in relief as he felt her slip into unconsciousness. She'd given much more resistance to him than she'd ever done before; clearly something needed to be done about that… He waited a few minutes to allow her mind to settle in sleep, then stood and arranged her on the sofa so that she was lying on it. He raised his hand to her face, giving her mind the lightest nudge. "Adelaide, darling? _Kincsem_, wake up."

"Mm..." Adelaide's eye's fluttered, then widened as she focused on her lover's face, a strange pang of alarm in her chest at his being so near. "Eduárd?" She tried to move her head and winced. "Ooh... what happened?"

"Shh, shh, shh." He took her hand in his. "You had a fainting spell, dearest."

"I did?!" Good God... She'd never fainted before in her life!

"The strain of preparing for the wedding, along with the meddling of those who wish us ill, must be wearing on you, my poor darling."

"Yes... yes, it must be..." But why did it feel as if she was missing something, something terribly important... Well, no doubt it would occur to her in time. She smiled tremulously up at him, squeezing his hand, he looked so concerned. "Thank goodness you were here, dearest."

Mészáros raised his hand to her lips. "Indeed, _kincsem_. And very soon, I always shall be."

**1** Oh, dearest, what you do to me.

* * *

On the way home, Beth texted Sally that she was coming back, grateful yet again that the Doctor had allowed them not only their phones but full service as well. The Irregulars interrogated her all the way back to 221B, not having half the information they wanted, and Beth only felt safe in giving them so much, reminding herself to tell Will more privately when she saw him next. Once they'd disembarked and she'd paid the driver, she hugged each of the boys and told them to be careful.

"Rich coming from yew," Paul snorted, and promptly received a smack upside the shoulder.

Turning away, Beth gave an "Evening, constables!" to the bobbies on duty and hurried to let herself in and lock the door after her. "H'llooooo, I'm home," she called softly.

"Hey!" Sally poked her head out of the kitchen. "Beth's back," she called over her shoulder to John and Mrs. Hudson, and came up the hall.

Beth smiled back, glad to be home. "Hi!" She started peeling off her things. "How's everybody?"

"All good." Sally nodded upstairs. "Sherlock's awake, Kitty's keeping him company. Oh, and Will's been up to visit, too. Any luck with Adelaide?"

Watson emerged from the kitchen with the baby, relieved to see Beth home safe and sound—of course the stubborn girl had gone out while he'd still been sleeping!

Beth waved. "Hi, John! Hi, Kathy!" She looked back at Sally. "Ah, some, I think. We parted on good terms, anyway." And she counted _that_ a victory. "I think I even managed to get her to _think_, just a little bit. Oh, and she said she would let me know if the Baron decided to go on a sudden business trip, so there's also that."

Sally gaped. "She _what_? ...do I even want to know how you talked her into that?"

Beth smiled weakly, not wanting to explain herself more than she had to. _Especially not to John, right? He certainly wouldn't approve_… "Probably not. Let's just say I gave her a heavy dose of reality."

"Beth..." Watson groaned. Lord only knew what that meant!

"Oy, tryna save her life here, okay?"

Sally sighed and patted her husband's arm. _Let it go, honey._ "All right, but can you go up and see Sherlock next? He's been worrying."

"Yeah, of course." Beth leaned over and kissed Kathy, who cooed softly. "I'll have supper afterwards, okay?" On the ride back, her stomach had helpfully begun gurgling, much to the amusement of the boys, darn them. "Lunch was late, but it's also been my only real meal today!" She ran upstairs and rapped lightly on the bedroom door. "Knock-knock?"

Holmes was half-sitting up in bed, supported by pillows, wearing his dressing gown over a fresh nightshirt, courtesy of Watson. "Come in, love," he smiled. "I thought I heard the carriage."

Smiling back, Beth stepped inside. "Hey. Well, you're only looking mildly horrific now. Hi, Kitty."

"_Bonsoir_. I was just telling Monsieur Holmes about Señora Klein gracing us with her presence."

"And drying Mrs. Hudson's dishes!" Holmes chuckled. He would have given a lot to see that.

Beth giggled at the memory and perched on the edge of the bed. "I swear that _Sally_ is the one we need to watch out for around here." Then her smile faded. "So how are you doing?"

Holmes shrugged. "Mm, tolerably – although I shouldn't mind a change of scenery."

Beth raised both eyebrows. "Well, that I'm fielding off to John." _I'm not about to become an enabler for your lack of caution when it comes to your health, sweetheart_. She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips.

Kitty looked down as they kissed, blushing, and started to rise. "_Excusez-moi..._ I should see if Madame Hudson needs assistance."

Beth backed up hastily, also blushing, and still not entirely understanding _why_. "No, no, Kitty, you don't have to go! I was gonna tell you both about my visit. At the very least—" she put on her best melodramatic air of mock-sympathy— "you should know that you are insane, and, out of the goodness of his heart, the Baron brought you back to London for treatment."

Kitty stared, then burst out laughing. "Ah, _vraiment_? _Eh bien_, it is true, in a way!" She sighed and sat back down. "Whoever said that madness was catching, he might very well have met Eduárd Mészáros."

"Indeed..." Holmes frowned. "I am sorry, Kitty. I might have guessed he would employ such underhanded means to discredit you."

Kitty shrugged. "We gave him little enough choice." A grim smile. "At least I needn't fear any assassination attempts from his bride-to-be – not when she can safely pity me instead."

Beth winced, pitying Kitty for a reason very different from Adelaide's. "Yeah, something like that. Turns out, though, that he didn't give her a story for exactly _how_ he met you, and hopefully that's something for her to simmer on. Anyway, we did manage to part on good-enough terms, and I think I did get her to _think_, just a little. Not to mention that she said she'd let me know if the Baron decides to vamoose out of the country." She smiled brightly, focusing on that accomplishment rather than the bomb she had to drop… _Just be proud of me, love_.

Holmes's mouth fell open. "Good God!" He laughed in bemused delight. "Beth, you're a wonder! How on earth did you convince her to co-operate?" When all he and Kitty had gotten for their combined efforts was a temper tantrum!

Beth hesitated, smile turning sheepish before fading altogether—this really wasn't going to be fun. "Well... just don't yell until I'm done explaining. Aside from giving her the facts of what happened last night... I might have... shown her some pictures I took. Of you." She couldn't help it: she cringed, bracing herself.

Holmes went very still, staring in disbelief.

"And Adelaide did not faint dead away at the sight?" Kitty interjected hastily, impressed in spite of herself. "She is made of sterner stuff than I thought!" She nodded at Holmes's suspicious glare. "_Oui, monsieur_, I knew of your wife's plan. A great risk, _certainement_, but evidently worthwhile, _n'est-ce pas_?"

Holmes smiled thinly, the only sign of how tight a hold he was keeping on his temper. "That remains to be seen, does it not?" he said pleasantly, nodding to Beth. "Do go on."

Beth shrank further, then stopped herself—she just scored a _win_, that _was_ something to be proud of. She straightened, and tried to speak as evenly as possible, still not relishing facing Sherlock's temper. "No, Sherlock. I'm sorry that I took those photos without your permission, but it _doesn't_ remain to be seen, because Adelaide straight-up told me that she would think about what I told her, and I told her a lot. About last night, about me personally—"

She turned to Kitty. "She didn't exactly buy this, but I told her that I knew you were telling the truth about the Baron, and I told her why: that... that one victim knows another. That much she did believe, at least. I pressed the point about the fact that the Baron hadn't explained how he met you, and she got angry, and... I told her about what happened last night. That's when I showed her the photos. And that's when she really started _listening_.

"Everything is academic," she said softly, "until you have reality staring you in the face." A normal twenty-ish girl from Beth's time would probably not have very much difficulty looking at the photos of Sherlock all banged-up, given the ubiquity of violence in the media, both fictional and real, but Adelaide had no such point of reference. Beth turned back to Sherlock. "She stopped seeing you as an enemy, and started seeing you as a person. I told her there was no reason for _anyone_ else to be after you right now, and then I showed her the photo of us girls in Whitehall, and explained that one—and that got even further under her skin. We had... we had a good talk. I was trying to be as non-threatening as possible, and sympathetic, and... and _I think it worked_."

"...Yes..." Holmes reached for Beth's hand, squeezing it gently. He still wasn't happy about the photos... but if Beth had been willing to share her own pain without knowing how Adelaide would react, it would be rather petty of him to make an issue of a minor embarrassment.

Relieved, Beth squeezed his hand lightly back.

"It does sound as though you might have made a difference," Kitty said quietly. She knew only too well how Eduárd operated: keeping his women isolated through blind devotion, then fear, and finally shame. But if Adelaide was already starting to realise there really was someone else on her side...

"I hope so." Beth suddenly felt tired again, even as the tension drained from her shoulders.

Kitty stood up again. "Well, I really should see if Madame Hudson needs assistance."

"All right." Beth smiled gratefully at the other woman. "Thank you, Kitty."

"My pleasure." Kitty nodded to Sherlock, some of the old awkwardness returning. "Good night, monsieur. _Dormez bien_." **1**

"Thank you," Holmes said softly. Poor girl... this had to be so much harder on her than the rest of them.

Beth watched Sherlock as Kitty left, a pang of… _something_… developing in her chest. She didn't think it was jealousy... Once she heard Kitty's footsteps on the stairs, Beth murmured, "I _was_ right."

"About?" Although he had an inkling.

Another blush crept up on her. "I think you know what I'm talking about." It had only been one of their more memorable arguments, having just escaped guillotine-happy soldiers in Paris.

"Beth, love..." Holmes was also starting to blush, but met his wife's gaze squarely. "If you have concerns about Kitty being here, please just tell me." He certainly wouldn't blame her if that was the case.

"I don't, honest." _I was the one who asked her to sit with you_. "I'm glad she's here. The crazy thing is that I feel like we might be… becoming friends, and I want that." _Just ask him_. _I can't, not that_… "Honey, I've been doing a lot of thinking… and..." She was stammering, tripping over her own tongue, more nervous now than she'd been when she called on the Pembertons. "Okay, I want you to answer this honestly, and not be afraid to hurt me, because I promise you won't." She exhaled shakily. "Do you like Kitty? I don't just mean... physical... attraction. I mean, do you really like her?"

He looked at her gravely, not at all sure that her assurances were truly sincere, even if she believed they were. _But then, Beth trusted you to handle her feelings for Jeremy Brett, and nothing serious ever came of that infatuation..._ "I'm afraid the answer is rather more complicated than the question, Beth." He stroked her fingers, drawing her towards him. "First of all, _cherie_, I want to make it clear that even if you and I had never met, I would not have chosen to pursue a relationship with Kitty. Not merely because of her need to hunt – she cannot help the thirst, and I'm glad she has it back to a form that she can live with."

"Me, too," Beth said softly. The idea that nothing would ever have come of Sherlock and Kitty's relationship had Beth not been there made her heart hurt, two lonely ships passing in the night… "What else, then?"

"I could never have let her get close enough. I think it was Watson who said to me that love is a leap of faith, and until you came into my life, dearest, I was never inspired to make that leap."

Beth snuggled closer. "Honey, you didn't leap. I pretty much had to drag you in kicking and screaming." _That's not quite fair… That's how it _felt.

Holmes chuckled silently. "That as well. But yes, I do like Kitty, and no, it is not purely physical attraction. Although there was, I must confess... a moment at Torchwood... where I was tempted to take things further." He frowned, still not entirely sure what _had_ happened there. "Perhaps it was because she was the only person I knew from outside of that place who wished to associate with me, besides Moriarty – certainly the only female."

"Aw, honey." Beth squeezed his hand gently.

"As to your being friends with her, love, I don't think it's crazy at all. Heaven knows Kitty needs friends just now, more than ever." Will had certainly seemed quite taken with her when he'd visited this afternoon! "Although something she said last night makes me think she means to return to France once all of this is over."

Beth sighed, looking down at their clasped hands. "I guess I'm not surprised—it _is_ her home…" She lost her nerve, she couldn't ask him, couldn't give words to what she'd been brooding over for hours now, it was too big, too much… _Abort, switch, switch!_ "...actually, that reminds me." She leaned up on her elbow. "You know what I was saying before about the Baron clearing town? Well, that might happen. Adelaide promised to let me know if it did—if he decided to take an impromptu 'business' trip. She said he didn't travel with books, so far as she could tell, but he does travel with his china."

"Ah!" Holmes stiffened in excitement, eyes gleaming. "Now, that is _most_ interesting!"

She couldn't help smiling, thrilled to see that look back in his eyes. "And we're off to the races. Why is it interesting?"

"If Mészáros is taking porcelain with him on ocean voyages, it would have to be packed very carefully. And I can't help wondering what else those crates might hold." A false bottom would be easy enough to conceal beneath such fragile objects – who would want to risk moving them?

"The journals? Well, apparently he has the staff to pack them."

"Indeed. He certainly wouldn't be foolish enough to leave such incriminating evidence behind - no telling what might happen in his absence. And if your suspicions are correct, and the Baron is planning on leaving the country again soon..."

"That would _hopefully_ be good news for Adelaide, at least."

"Perhaps, though not so much for us. Which country was it?" He arched a meaningful eyebrow. "In the published story, that is."

She squirmed a little. "America—Chicago, apparently." Oh. Oh, that was _too_ close for comfort! "Oh gosh, y'know what, I hope that _doesn't_ happen—I don't want him anywhere near my country; we have enough problems of our own!"

"Agreed. Although personally I would choose Greece – the country's already buzzing with preparations for the Athens Olympics, it'd be a good place to disappear."

"True... In either case, Adelaide said she'd let me know and I honestly think she'll do it." She sighed and lay back down, her conscience helpfully reminding her of something else she had to apologize for. "I'm sorry for running out on you this morning," she said softly.

"Well... I was hardly being a restful bedmate just then, was I?" He put his arm around her and kissed her hair. "I shouldn't have lectured you, you'd had enough to upset you already." _And whose fault was that, again?_

She nestled closer. "Well, I'm sorry for scaring you... I'm not going to run out the door and go stake the Baron in his coffin—although if I have the chance served up to me on a silver platter, I can't promise that I won't take it. Not just for revenge's sake, but for everyone's. But, honey…" She hesitated—they'd danced around this issue for a long time, and maybe they shouldn't have. "I hate having to say this, but... I'm only eighteen. So, yeah, I still have a ways to go in terms of maturity, of... of coping when bad stuff happens." She winced, looking down. "It also means that I have a severe allergy towards being lectured or strongly advised. I'm still figuring out on my own how to be an adult, and that's not something that you can really help me with." She lifted her head, looked him in the eye. "I need you to trust that I'm not going to run off and do something stupid, or that I'm going to take a risk without weighing the idea first."

Holmes nodded, trying to ignore the pang of guilt that seemed to visit whenever he was reminded of just how young his wife really was – an issue still to be addressed with the in-laws! "I'll do my best." He tightened his arm, wishing he felt well enough to do more. "You've done so well, dearest." For the first time since yesterday, he was beginning to feel genuine hope that they might at least be able to stop the wedding.

"Thanks…" Feeling a little bit better, she stretched up and kissed his cheek. The next moment, her stomach gurgled, and she groaned softly. "Well... I'd love to stay put and rest, but... I should probably go get some dinner."

"Of course." He sighed. "I suppose mine'll be broth again." Not that he was actually ready for anything solid yet, it still hurt to chew.

"Awww, poor sweetie." She squeezed his hand again—he looked so pitiful. "I'll be back up soon, okay?"

He squeezed back, smiling. "I'll be here."

**1** Sleep well.

* * *

**Sky: **Yikes, poor Adelaide. *hugs her* It was important to us, though, that we show the stuff the original story only ever talked about, even if the way we write it is in a fantastical setting. And if I can just get on my soapbox for a sec, I promise this'll be quick... _There are always red flags_. People who are abusive in personal relationships—that still bleeds through even when they're on their best behavior. Those masks aren't perfect. (And please understand that this is coming from someone who grew up with an abusive father.)

Getting back off my soapbox... And speaking of tough situations, the next chapter is very R-rated. All our letter ratings (minus D-for-drugs) are in full force. (The letter ratings are at the beginning of chapter 1 if you want to check.) So... if you want to skip the first scene, the rest of the chapter will fill you in on what's happened.


	12. A Little Bit Buffy

**==Chapter 12==**

**A Little Bit Buffy**

_are you brave? the devil asked.  
__no, she answered, but i am alive.  
_– and sometimes those two things are the same (entry #2) / j.a.s

(Scene rating: L, V, S)

In the middle of the night, Beth woke from an uneasy sleep, and she didn't know at first exactly why she had awakened. The next moment, there was an odd sound, like something hitting the window. She slipped carefully out of bed so as not to wake Sherlock, padded over to the window, and looked out. Was that one of the boys moving away from the house? Had he thrown something at the window? Were the Irregulars in trouble?

_Darn it._ She grabbed her stake and her lighter from the dresser and went out into the hall and down the stairs as quietly as she possibly could, not wanting to wake anyone if it turned out to be nothing. _Heaven knows we all need as much sleep as we can possibly get._

She shrugged into her coat, not taking the time to button it, wrapped her scarf around her neck, and slipped into her boots, tying them hurriedly. Pocketing the lighter, she tiptoed to the back door, opened it, and stepped out, the stake in her right hand in ready stabbing position. She closed the door behind her and locked it, then stepped out into the lane. "Hello?" she said softly. "Anybody there? Was that one of you boys? Hello…"

She stopped suddenly, but not of her own accord, frozen stiff from about the shoulders on down. "What?! What the zed…" She struggled, but it was no use—whatever was keeping her from moving had an extremely firm grip on her. "Oh, _shit_."

There was a tutting sound just behind her, making her start, followed by a silky voice in an accent much like Nikola's but stronger. "Really, _Señora_ Holmes—such undignified language for a first meeting."

Beth opened her mouth to yell for help, only to discover that she could no longer breathe. Her heart had stopped, her lungs weren't contracting and expanding… no breath was entering or leaving her body.

The voice sounded amused rather than angry. "No, I think not. I should be delighted to allow you the luxury of breath, _mi querida_, if I were confident you would not attempt to abuse the privilege a second time._ ¿Convenida?_"

Beth nodded hastily, panicked, lungs burning to release the oxygen trapped inside. The next moment, air whooshed out of her, lungs able to contract again, and she gasped for fresh air. She'd held her breath longer underwater, but on deep breaths that she could at least gradually let out. Having her breathing stopped like that had been terrifying, too close to comfort to how dying had felt.

_Get a grip! Don't be scared—be angry! _"Nice Spanish," she said acidly, twisting her head around as much as she could and still not seeing him. "Learned that from Isadora, did you? _Muy bien_."

"Most gracious of you, _mi querida_. But where are my manners?"

Her feet and legs moved, entirely independent of her mind, and she turned around, her right hand opening without warning. "No!" She tried desperately to keep her fist closed around her weapon, but her hand spread out wide, the stake dropping to the ground.

The man before her took her hand and bowed gracefully over it, lips barely brushing her skin. She tried to yank her hand away but with just as much success as before, unable to suppress a shudder, skin crawling. "Baron Eduárd Mészáros," said the man. "A pleasure to meet you at last." He actually looked much as John had described his fictional counterpart: black hair, bronzed skin, dark eyes—handsome in a conventional late-nineteenth century way.

And she wanted desperately to get away. "The pleasure's definitely all yours. Now if you'll excuse me, I haven't gotten much sleep in the past thirty-six hours, thanks to you, and I'd very much like to get back to it."

"Remarkable," he murmured. He kept hold of her hand and turned it over, focused on the exposed underside of her wrist. Beth's heart leapt into her throat. "Such fire that flows in these veins… I can halt it with a single thought, and you care not a whit."

She gritted her teeth, trying to pull away but to no avail. "Let me go and I'll show you fire, _coward_."

He laughed softly, releasing her hand and reach up to touch her face—she jerked her head away. "Ah, Elizabeth, what a queen you would make!"

She laughed incredulously. "_Seriously_?! You're gonna pitch _that_ to me?" What the heck made these men think that anybody would be happy and willing to join them in their lives of… of crime, ruling the world, whatever? _What makes you think you're entitled to people saying yes?_

Against her will, her head turned back towards him, and he stroked her cheek, sending shivers of revulsion down her spine. "_Mi querida_," he said softly, "you are half vampire already. Such wild fury I see in you, such cunning…" His eyes narrowed. "I so rarely find it a challenge to bend a woman's will to mine, but the dance you have led me this night…" He smirked, his tone turning falsely sympathetic. "Poor Adelaide, I almost became cross with her!"

Her eyes widened—_no, that's not what I mean to happen!_—then burned. "You threatened my family, then you hurt my husband, and _you wonder why I'm fucking furious_?!" Her voice dropped to a hiss. "You are _not_ going to be glad I am."

"_Al contrario, mi ángel oscuro_," he murmured. He caressed her neck, trailing his thumb down her wildly pulsing jugular vein, eyes half closing as if listening to music only he could hear. "The song of your blood – ah, how it weeps... Such fear and longing for all you might yet see, touch, taste…" He almost sounded compassionate as he continued, "He promised you such wonders…"

Beth stared at him. _How can he possibly know that? _How could he know about what the Doctor promised her?

The vampire smiled enigmatically. "You left a keepsake for me in the library, _mi tesoro_." He raised his left hand, which looked empty… no, wait. A wire-thin brown circlet adorned his ring finger: a single hair, twisted into a ring. _Her_ hair. "Unwittingly, no doubt, but gratefully received nonetheless."

She shivered, terror threading through her fury, and had to make herself smile scornfully. "You're just like Colonel Moran, you know that? Neither of you dare take a girl on until you incapacitate her."

He arched a scornful eyebrow. "Moran? Bah! The man was an animal!" Well, on that, at least, they could agree… He turned her again and slid his arm around her waist from behind, clasping her close to him. _Oh, God, no, please…!_ With his free hand, he brushed aside her scarf and lifted her hair away from her neck—she could feel a trace of cold air on her skin where he'd bent his head down, just a whisper's length from her neck. "I am _so_ much more," he purred. "As you will be, _querida_. Adelaide, Kitty, all of those other women, they are nothing… nothing compared to what I shall make _you_."

She strained desperately to get free and was still unable to move an inch, heart pounding with barely-controlled terror, adrenaline screaming through her with nowhere to go. "You make me like you, and there will be _nowhere_ on earth that will be safe for you. No matter how far I have to go or how many years it takes, I _will_ find you and I _will_ kill you."

She felt him chuckle silently. "You would hardly be the first of my children to make the attempt." He kissed the nape of her neck, making her shiver. "I am not an unreasonable man, _mi amor_," he breathed; "I understand your fears. I know what you considered offering to your husband…" Beth went very pale and very still at the depth of this fresh intrusion. "I, too, am willing to share." She had considered, for several hours, the idea that perhaps Sherlock and Kitty might like to be lovers… that perhaps she should let them. "I should not dream of tearing you away from the one you love altogether."

She started to strain again. "_No thanks_." She didn't even want to imagine the revulsion in Sherlock's eyes, the set of his mouth, his tone… on finding his wife a vampire, and bound inexorably to another man, the vampire who'd caused them all this grief… Desperation bled into her voice despite herself. "I don't _want_ to be a vampire!" The brief fascination of a younger teenager paled in comparison to reality.

"Ah, but consider, _tesoro_, how difficult our kind are to kill, how much faster we can heal... Now imagine giving that gift in turn to your husband…"

The blood drained from her face completely. "No," she whimpered. Sherlock would never forgive her, if he even retained the ability to forgive… But he would be alive… and virtually untouchable… "Please, don't," she whispered.

He kissed the join of her neck and shoulder, his voice now a soft growl. "Fortunately, _querida_, I do not need your consent."

She arched her neck, another shudder running through her… but… her mind was also beginning to fog… "Well, if that isn't the… problem… right… there…" She felt her body flush, short of breath—_what's wrong with me?_

The arm around her waist tightened. "_Sí, mi amor_," he murmured against her skin. "Soon… soon you will have everything you desire…" Her hands reached down and drew her nightgown up her legs as his hands began to caress her waist and hips.

Trembling, she whimpered, one part of her mind shrilling in terror, and another part… _"You really are a little whore, aren't you?" _Moran's voice mocked. Her blood was on fire, her hips trying to roll despite being locked in place, her back trying to arch. Her body was craving pleasure and satisfaction whether her mind wanted it or not… _His hands feel good, don't they? I want his mouth—no, I don't! I don't… I just want… I just want…_ "P-please…!" she gasped out, no longer certain what she was pleading for.

A baby's screaming wail suddenly split the night air—Kathy! _Kathy, HELP! Call Daddy!_

The Baron looked up for a second, tensing, and Beth discovered she could move again—her head was a little clearer, a little lighter… _The lighter!_ She gathered up her nerve and raised her hand over her shoulder to stroke his cheek, her skin tingling at the contact—physically, she still wanted him—her left hand falling to her coat pocket. Still breathing heavily, she arched her back, pirouetted in his hold, and made herself cup his cheek in her hand, her heated gaze and husky voice entirely too real. "There's just… one flaw in your proposal, _mi querido_…" Bringing the lighter up to his shirt, she flicked the lever, holding her breath, not daring to break eye contact to see if it was working.

Mészáros's eyes had half closed at her touch. "And what is that, _mi amor_?" he murmured.

She felt weak from relief when she heard a soft hiss, the sound of the cloth finally catching fire—but she needed more time! The flame had to spread! "This… isn't… _Twilight_."

He blinked in confusion, a split second before noticing the flame at his waist. He screeched, elongated canines flashing in the flickering light, and shoved Beth away. She stumbled but caught her balance and dived forward, picking up her fallen stake and springing back up, aiming for his chest. He grabbed her wrist with one hand, half crushing it in his superhuman grip, and wrenched the stake out of her grasp with the other hand, turning the business end on her.

She drove her knee up, connecting solidly—Mészáros grunting in pain and doubling over—and screamed at the top of her lungs. "_JOHN!_"

She looked down to find the vampire on the ground, the stake forgotten, his coat wrapped tightly around himself as he rolled on the cobbles, face contorted in agony. For a moment, she felt a stab of pity for him, despite what he'd been about to do to her, despite what she knew he'd done to countless others…

She exhaled shakily, then bent down to pick the stake back up, moving forward less certainly now, the Baron's position on the ground not so open to being stabbed. But she didn't think, she simply _moved_, diving back down, stake poised again for his heart.

He rolled and lashed out wildly with a snarl of rage, eyes blazing. Beth fell back with a cry, her left cheek torn open by fingernails that seemed more like talons now...

Kathy had stopped screaming, but now there were faint sounds of a police whistle and pounding footsteps in the distance, rapidly getting louder.

Beth gave Mészáros a shark grin as he rolled to his feet, gathering himself for another attack. "How many people _can_ you fight at once?"

He hesitated, then glared viciously, doubtless realizing that the game was up and he had mere seconds to retreat. He smirked, but the expression was tinged with pain. "Well played, _mi querida_. _Hasta luego_…" He grimaced, and Beth watched in shock as his body actually dissolved into mist, though slowly, and tinted red.

She shivered but nodded at the mist. "Stake you later." The little cloud rolled away, disappearing into the darkness, and the next second, she heard a voice she'd never been so happy to hear.

"Beth!"

* * *

"Will!" They all but collided, Beth throwing her arms around Will, grateful beyond words for him—and Paul and Charlie, nearby and hanging back. Thank God for her boys…

"'Ere, what's all this, then?" She jumped, and looked over Will's shoulder to see a bobby hurrying towards them. "Mrs. 'Olmes?"

The next moment, there was pounding on the back door of 221B, John's muffled voice shouting, "Beth! Are you all right? _Beth_, answer me!"

Beth looked back at the house, a giggle bubbling up out of her, tinged with hysteria in her own ears, and fished the key out of her pocket. "Paul, would you let Dr. Watson out, please?"

Grinning ruefully, Paul took the key and ran to the door. "She's all roight, Doctor," he called, "we got 'er!"

Beth turned back to the bobby. "I was, ah, attacked, but… he's gone now." She suddenly realized she was standing in her open coat and her nightgown, her scarf fallen to the ground in the fight, and hastily pulled her coat together, shivering in the cold now that the adrenaline was wearing off.

Watson raced out in his nightshirt, followed by two more constables. "Beth, thank God!" The doctor went pale with fury on seeing the bleeding scratches on Beth's face, but managed to continue with deceptive calm, "Constable, can questions wait for the moment? I need to get Mrs. Holmes back inside and cleaned up before her frantic husband does himself further injury." He steered Beth back towards the house, careful to keep his tone light: "He actually got halfway down the stairs before Sally and I caught up."

Beth groaned. "He didn't hurt himself, did he?"

"Well, if he can summon that kind of adrenaline, I shouldn't think there's too much wrong with him." Although said adrenaline had definitely been running low by then, Sally wisely choosing to stay with Holmes to help him down the rest of the way. "Hello?" Watson called as they re-entered the house.

"Watson!" came Holmes's voice, shot through with barely contained panic. "Is Beth all right, is she with you?!"

At the sound of Beth's voice, Sally went to the kitchen door, and had to choke back a gasp at the state her friend was in. Beth hadn't looked this bad since Moran… Sally glanced over her shoulder at Sherlock and hurried back to him, doing her best to sound reassuring and keep the concern out of her voice. "Sherlock, you stay in that chair! Beth's just coming, she's _okay_."

A sudden wave of guilt crashed over Beth. "I'm right here, Sherlock!" She rushed into the kitchen, where Sherlock had just managed to get back to his feet, white-faced and looking as if he'd aged ten years. "I'm okay, I promise!"

"Beth...!" Words failed the detective, instead wrapping his trembling arms around her; he didn't know what made him feel sicker, terror at what might have happened or rage at what clearly had...

Beth hugged him tightly back, then winced. "Ow." Her clothes were pressing against the skin over her abdomen, which felt… burnt. _Oh, zed_. "It's okay, honey. Just… _please_ sit down."

"I think you should, too, dear," said Mrs. Hudson. She turned to Dr. Watson. "Doctor, I've set some water to boil."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson." Watson rolled up his sleeves and went to the sink to wash his hands. He would have preferred both of them to be upstairs, but Holmes needed to rest before being moved again, and this was as sterile an environment as one could ask for.

"Sally?" Kitty called from the stairs. "I have the doctor's bag, could you take it, please?"

Sally ran out of the kitchen and up the hall. "Oh, Kitty, thank you!" She took the bag, noting that the plasmavore looked as strained as she sounded. "Yeah, you're right, don't go down there!" Kitty had assured her that Time Lady blood was well and truly off the menu, but the scent of fresh human blood in the kitchen must be painfully tempting just now! "You okay?"

Kitty gave her a weak smile, starting to retreat back upstairs. "Don't fret about me, see to Beth! Is she...?" She should have _known_ Eduárd was here, would have if Monsieur Holmes's wounds hadn't clouded her sense of smell...

"Just a few scratches," Sally called over her shoulder as she ran back down. "I think the Baron got the worst of it!" Must have done, if Beth was still on her feet and not bitten.

"Ah, _bon_!"

Sitting at the table now, Beth didn't meet anyone's eyes, feeling profoundly stupid for having gone out alone like a blonde in an old horror movie. "Um... I could do with some ice or something? I, uh, think I got a little scorched?" Even so, she couldn't help clutching her coat around her, her hand starting to tremble from holding on so tightly.

"How badly?" Watson frowned, coming back to her.

"I don't... I'm not sure. Not badly." She had to force herself to open her coat back up and look down—her nightgown had gone brown over her stomach, getting darker and stiffer where she must have been closest to the fire. "I promise he got it much, _much_ worse," she muttered.

Watson's eyes widened. "Glad to hear it," he managed to answer calmly while blocking Holmes's view. At least the cloth wasn't stuck to her skin... "Sally, as soon as I have these scratches cleaned, please take Beth upstairs and give her a cool bath – no less than five minutes."

Sally winced in sympathy but nodded, relieved to see over her husband's shoulder that the damage wasn't as bad as it could have been.

"I could go for longer than that," Beth murmured. It was going to take more than five minutes to get the feeling of Eduárd Mészáros's hands off her skin...

"You can add a little hot water to it afterwards – not too much, mind."

Holmes anxiously looked on while Watson carefully cleaned Beth's scratches with cotton swabs and antiseptic, refraining with difficulty from holding her hand – her squeezing his fingers wouldn't be the best idea right now. And Beth still wouldn't look at him directly, her expression chillingly similar to how she'd looked after Torchwood...

"There, that'll do for now. Those can be dressed once you've bathed, no sense in wetting the sticking plaster."

Beth nodded. "Thanks…" There was the sound of the back door opening again, and Will poked his head around the kitchen doorway a moment later, eyes wide with concern.

"Is she all right?" Granted, she was _talking_, which was at least a step up from that one time with Moran… the fool girl had as much of a tendency to get herself hurt as her husband did!

She looked him in the eye, knowing he'd worry even more if she didn't. "I'm fine, Will, I promise."

Will raised an eyebrow, knowing better but not about to call her out on it in front of everybody. Beth's idea of 'fine' was more a street boy's idea of fine than anyone else's. He walked in and over to Mrs. Hudson, handing her the key Beth had had. "Here, Mrs. H."

"Thank you, Will."

Will turned to Dr. Watson, though his gaze kept straying to Mr. Holmes, who still looked like the Reaper had chewed him up and spat him back out. "Doctor, the peelers are still waitin' for some kind of story from yew. And the two keepin' watch out back were drugged."

The two men exchanged worried glances. One constable might easily be knocked out, but two at once without raising any alarm? "All right..." Watson sighed. "Beth, you go with Sally. Holmes and I will work out something to tell the police."

Beth smirked faintly. "Tell them I totally whipped his tush." For her own sanity, that's what she was focusing on right now.

"Elizabeth!" Mrs. Hudson tutted, repressing a smile, relieved to see a little of the girl's spirit back. "Go on, young lady—I'll get the towels."

"Yas'm." Beth hesitated, then reached over to squeeze Sherlock's hand lightly.

Holmes squeezed back, smiling as comfortingly as he could – whatever had happened out there, he was hopeful that Beth would talk to him when she was ready.

Beth left the room, and Sally followed her with John's bag, though not before nodding reassuringly to Sherlock—Beth was in good hands with her and Mrs. Hudson.

Once the women were gone, Watson let out another long sigh, sitting down in the chair Beth had just vacated. "Holmes... I think we need to tell Lestrade the truth – no, I don't mean quite yet!" he said hastily, seeing Holmes's brows knit. "Lord knows he's going to be round first thing tomorrow anyhow... but if we're going to keep involving the Yard in cases of this sort..."

"Then we'll need an inside man," Holmes finished slowly. "I suppose you're right – we certainly couldn't do better than the Inspector!"

Watson nodded emphatically, though with eyebrows raised at such a ready admission from the detective, then hesitated. "Ought we to tell him about Beth?" Lestrade would certainly appreciate being informed of a new family member in town – once the shock wore off! – but would it do more harm than good in the long term?

Holmes shrugged, massaging his temples, the earlier headache starting to return in force. "God knows... I think we'd best leave that decision to her."

* * *

Upstairs, Beth turned on the bath and shivered, finally peeling off her coat. She wasn't looking forward to sitting in cold water for five minutes, no matter how good it was going to feel on her poor skin...

Mrs. Hudson came in with the towels and set them aside. "There you are, dear. I'll take the coat if you like."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," Beth said softly, grateful just for her being there. The older woman gave her a deeply compassionate look—which almost made her break down right then and there—and patted her shoulder before leaving the room.

"Thanks, Mrs. H!" Sally set the Gladstone down, busying herself with finding what she'd need for when Beth was dry again – gauze for the burns, sticking plaster and ointment for the scratches...

Meanwhile, Beth set out the soap and the sponge, and everything finally crashed over her, less of a wave and more of a tsunami, her breath stuttering from the force of it. "Sally? ...can I have a hug?"

"Oh, honey..." Sally came over at once, arms open, heart breaking at the raw anguish in Beth's face.

Beth wrapped her arms tightly around Sally, resting her head on her shoulder, the tears finally coming. "Why?" she whimpered. "Sally, why does this keep happening to me?" Why the zed did the bad guys keep coming after her body?

Sally blinked, at a loss for how to answer. The Baron probably came for Beth _partly_ because she was becoming a threat to his plans – but she probably didn't need to hear that right now. She rubbed Beth's back, murmuring, "I don't know, honey... but right now, you _really_ need that bath, or those burns will just get worse."

"I know, I know…" Beth let go and wiped carefully at her tears. "You gonna stay?" Being alone right now was the last thing she needed.

"Sure, if you want?" Sally gestured at the nightgown. "Can you get this off okay?"

Beth nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine." She stepped back and carefully pulled the nightgown up and off. She winced as she looked down at her reddened torso, then giggled through still-falling tears. "It's not that bad, really. I lit as much of his shirt as I could and then tried to stake him so he couldn't put it out right away." She quickly pulled off her underthings and got into the water, shivering and then hissing as it touched her burns. "Ohhhhh, this is awful," she laughed despairingly, hugging herself.

Sally grimaced in sympathy as she picked up Beth's discarded things. "I bet." She knelt beside the bath, trying not to stare at Beth's reddened skin, took her hand and squeezed it. "Hey, when you said you'd take the heat, I didn't think you meant literally."

Beth couldn't help giggling. "Rude!" Then her grin faded. "If Moriarty and Moran had a love child, I'm pretty sure it'd be Mészáros. ...I couldn't _move_. Not unless _he_ made me—he even stopped me breathing." Her heart quickened in remembrance. "He had this hair of mine that he got from the Pembertons' place, and... he used it to get in my head. It was only when Kathy started screaming that he accidentally let go."

"Oh my god..." Kitty had never said anything about Mészáros having voodoo-type powers! Sally's eyes widened at another horrible thought. "Beth... do you think he still has it?"

Beth tried to replay the memory in her head with more attention to details—if only she could fight and observe at the same time! She shook her head slowly. "I... hope not. I'm hoping the fire damaged or destroyed it." Her mind was already tracking to the part of the attack that still left her cold and trembling inside with shame. _I can't tell her about that_… _You need to tell_ somebody… "But... but that wasn't... that almost wasn't the worst part…" She let go of Sally's hand and clutched the side of the bathtub instead. "You know how, in some vampire stories... well... _Dracula_. You remember how, in _Dracula_, Jonathan Harker meets the three brides? Do you remember his reaction to them?"

"Um..." Sally frowned as she tried to remember the right bit. "Sort of..." Oh no... "Oh, _honey_..." She put her arms around Beth, uncaring of getting her sleeves wet, eyes bright with tears of fury. _I'll kill him..._ She still didn't know what Moriarty had done to Beth, but it couldn't possibly have been worse than the Baron, making her mind and body betray her like _that_...

Beth leaned into Sally's embrace, not caring that she was naked, wishing she could just disappear into her friend's—her something-great-grandmother's—arms and never come out again. "I can't tell Sherlock that, I can't! I know he won't be angry at me for it but I don't want to see how angry he'd get." She didn't know why, but the thought of Sherlock being angry still unsettled her—maybe because he got so _intense_, even when he didn't raise his voice… "And... and I don't know what to do about any of this. How to handle it. Sally, I don't know what to do."

"I do," Sally said, gently but firmly. "Honey, I know you don't want to hear this, but Sherlock needs to hear what you just told me – and I mean everything. What happened to you tonight was horrible..." Understatement of a lifetime... "but we can at least try to make sure it doesn't happen again, to you or anyone else."

Beth whimpered. "Sally, I can't. I don't... I don't... I can't... He's going to be so mad."

"Honey, we all got to boiling point with that monster _last_ night! Worrying about Sherlock's blood pressure isn't going to protect him – but telling him what you know about the Baron's Force tricks just might." Mészáros would absolutely qualify as a Sith!

Beth flinched. _You're not trying to protect him, though; of course, you're not that noble. You're just trying to protect _yourself. _Sally's right and you know it_. She shivered and gave a tiny nod. "...I'm sorry I went out alone," she whispered. "I'm sorry I went out at all. That was really stupid."

"Aw, sweetie!" Sally hugged her friend tighter. "From what you told me, about your hair? I'm betting it wasn't even you making that choice. Even if it was, you couldn't have known the constables weren't around."

Beth shook her head miserably. "Sally, I can't even wish that it wasn't me, and it was. I was worried about the boys, and... you know how Sherlock has this bad habit of doing things on his own?" She pulled back, smiling sardonically. "Hi, I'm his perfect match." She slumped forward against the side of the tub. "I'm so tired... and I know everybody else must be, too…"

"Ah well," Sally murmured, trying to smile, "it's all in a good cause." Staking that _son of a bitch_ and dancing on his ashes... "And you know what, I think that must have been at least five minutes." She reached for the hot tap. "Shift your feet, let's warm you up a bit."

Beth nodded tiredly, suddenly reminded that she was actually freezing. "Okay."

* * *

With Sally's help, Beth dried herself off carefully, and Sally painstakingly dressed the burns. "Getting our hands on some aloe vera would be a good idea." "Yeah, definitely."

After getting dressed, it was John's turn. He'd already carried Sherlock back up to bed, and, after washing up again thoroughly, he set to work on Beth's face with a large gauze pad and sticking plaster, which she _hated_, though she didn't tell him that. But the first time she'd ever heard of sticking plaster was reading 'The Greek Interpreter,' and she just couldn't disassociate the stuff from the story. She felt like Paul Kratides, and it didn't help her mood at all.

What _did_ help, however, was finally getting to have a cuddle with Kathy. "Thank you so much, sweetie." Beth had a feeling that the baby had an inkling of what she'd done, because she smiled much more solemnly than usual. After that, Sally fed the baby and started to nod off while doing so, prompting John to tell her to go to bed. Kitty came back upstairs to spend what remained of the night on the sofa, saying something about policemen downstairs—Beth was beginning to be too tired to understand everything that was going on around her.

At long last, everyone else had gone to bed, and she could settle back into her own bed with her husband, cocooning herself in the gloriously warm blankets. But there was one last thing she had to check on before she called it a night. "Sherlock? Are you okay? Seriously okay? Because I thought you probably shouldn't really be walking right now, and you came _down the stairs_."

"I don't even remember getting out of bed..." Holmes whispered. "I remember Kathy crying, that must have woken me... and then I heard you..." He shuddered, Beth's scream still ringing in his thoughts... calling for _Watson_... "and suddenly I was clutching the bannisters..." He wanted so badly to clutch Beth to him tightly and never let go again... but his arms felt like limp pieces of string, and the burns on his wife's torso meant he couldn't put them around her, anyhow. He twined his arm with hers, holding her hand in both of his, trying to focus on the moment: Beth's warmth, the sound of her breathing, the faint noise of pots and pans from the kitchen as Mrs. Hudson began a very early breakfast for the remaining constables.

"Oh, honey." She squeezed his hands tiredly. "I'm so sorry... for going outside and scaring everybody and waking us all up…" She raised a finger briefly to his lips. "And it's not going to kill you just for once to say that it's my fault. Mészáros threw me the bait but I didn't have to take it."

"True..." Holmes said quietly, "but I thought you said, not so long ago, that you were allergic to lectures? Oh yes, _and_ that I should have faith that you wouldn't take risks without due consideration?" So much for that reassurance!

Beth flinched and looked down in shame, biting her lip and nodding. She hadn't wanted to see him angry… _but I deserve it, no matter what Sally says_… "There was a noise at the window," she murmured. "I thought I saw one of the boys moving away from the house, and I've been worried about them."

Holmes exhaled through his nose, rolling gingerly onto his side. "And it didn't seem odd to you that he didn't wait? Or speak to the policemen on guard?" A pang of guilt smote him at Beth's stricken expression, but somehow that only seemed to make the ball of fire in the pit of his stomach grow larger and hotter. "Beth, why didn't you call out the window, for heaven's sake? They _can_ be opened! Waking the neighbourhood evidently isn't a problem while fighting off a vampire, so it's just possible we could have survived a false alarm!"

She flinched again, her own temper rising in spite of herself. "I didn't _want_ to wake you or anybody else up because God knows we all need the sleep. Which then, no, I wasn't really thinking about when I was trying not to get raped and killed and turned into a vampire!"

"Well, thank God for that!" Holmes snapped as the burning in his gut surged up into his chest. "Your _not_ thinking was finally good for something!" The words were no sooner out of his mouth than he regretted them – Beth looked as if he'd struck her, eyes wide and then blazing, brimming with tears. "At least _somebody_ got to you in time!" Even if it hadn't been him...

"...Well, maybe they shouldn't've if I'm that stupid."

He put his head in his hands, a groan of frustration escaping – he hadn't called her stupid, where on earth had she gotten that from? "What would you like me to call it, then? Foolish? Impetuous?"

The door to the sitting room was flung open, Kitty glaring daggers at the pair. "Why not try 'terrifying'? _Saint-Mère de Dieu_, will _both_ of you _please_ just admit you scared the daylights out of each other and _apologise_?! Then maybe some of us can get _back_ to sleep!"

A muffled sound of applause came through the ceiling, and Kitty smiled grimly. "The second floor seconds the motion. _Bon nuit_!"

After the initial shock, Holmes's face had grown increasingly red – it was somehow doubly embarassing to be caught, not only arguing with his wife, but arguing with her in bed! Once Kitty had closed the door again, he flopped onto his back and stared ruefully up at the ceiling, passing a hand over his face. How had they gotten here, again? He winced as his conscience prodded him helpfully: _You were being an insensitive jerk, remember?_ "Beth..."

Beth's cheeks were burning now, her gut coiling, chest tight. She wanted to leave the room and break down alone and in peace, but there was nowhere in the house for her to go, and outside wasn't safe like the grounds of Rosewood were… "What?"

He turned back onto his side, looking at her squarely, shamefaced. "I... I'm sorry. Kitty's absolutely right, 'terrifying' is a very good word for tonight..." Whatever he'd gone through while trying to get to Beth, he could only imagine how much worse it had been for her, facing the Baron alone.

She hesitated, then nodded wordlessly. She hadn't meant to ruin everyone's night… "You know I'd do anything to keep you from getting scared like that." Her voice was still flat with the effort of holding her emotions in. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, Beth..." He reached out hesitantly for her hand again, eyes bright. "Never mind that, _cherie_." _You were an inch away from losing her – again! – and all you could think of was to shout at her..._ "Your husband is a stubborn old fool who is, for a detective, appallingly bad at listening when it matters the most. Will you forgive me?"

And there it was. She almost broke down right then, her face twisting. "Probably." But not right now, not this time… everything hurt too much for her to say 'I forgive you' and mean it. Her chest so tight she could hardly breathe, she rolled onto her back and took her hand away from his.

Holmes was speechless – she'd _never_ reacted like that to an apology before! _Serves you right_, his thoughts hissed at him, _now close your damned mouth before you make things even worse!_ Unable to argue, the detective turned to face the wall as the tears spilled over, letting them fall silently onto his pillow.

* * *

**Sky:** Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch. Okay, we know, we're awful, we're sorry. Well, no, I'm sorry—as I recall, the first scene was my idea. No, not because I love torturing Beth—I actually don't! She just… ends up in bad situations a lot…

And I had two objectives for that scene. Number one was to have a proper vampire scene. You know, where the vampire bites or almost bites his victim. I feel like a lot of vampire fiction, Dracula adaptations and otherwise, have a bad habit of glossing over or romanticizing that kind of thing, and I… don't care for it. Yes, I get there's a sexual connotation, but unless the victim is willing… it's a rape connotation, pure and simple. It's not glamorous, and it's not sexy—Beth was about to be ravished and murdered and converted specifically against her consent.

Number two was for Beth to get to fight back this time. Beforehand, she wasn't able to stop Moran from doing what he wanted… and this time, she got the chance, thanks to Kathy, to get free of Mészáros and fend him off. Hence the chapter title. (Also, couldn't resist taking a little stab at Twilight; my apologies to any fans reading this!)

(Last but not least, couldn't you just shake her and Sherlock? Seriously?)


	13. Desperate Times

**==Chapter 13=**

**Desperate Times**

_so I wait for you like a lonely house  
__till you will see me again and live in me.  
__Till then my windows ache.  
_– Pablo Neruda

Beth slipped out of and back into wakefulness throughout the rest of the night—and she felt that Sherlock did not do much better. After breakfast came and went, she went out to the sitting room to curl up on the sofa, silent and still, Sherlock's criticisms swirling in her head and her own thoughts agreeing with him, and Mészáros's voice joining the cacophony. Neither Sally or Kitty could pull her out of the pit she'd fallen into—even Kathy couldn't do that, not this time.

Sally saw in dismay that the much-needed talk had been a complete bust, and she reluctantly resolved to intervene. A pall seemed to hang over the entire house that morning; Sherlock was brooding in bed, mood growing steadily worse, Kitty not daring to go near him this time, while Beth stayed rooted to the sofa, not touching any food Mrs. Hudson brought her. Meanwhile, Lestrade had come round with the police wagon to collect the two still-groggy constables from Mrs. Hudson's bedroom, listening to John's _slightly_ fuller explanation with knitted brows, his expression otherwise unreadable. He also made a point of meeting Kitty, who Mrs. Hudson had claimed last night as her niece, and while the Inspector was perfectly polite to her, it was clear from the look in his eye that he knew there was far more to it. The guard was changed, Lestrade promising to consider John's recommendation for posting them inside at night. After all, there wasn't much Mészáros's henchmen could do besides setting fire to the house or breaking the windows, and the Baron was hardly stupid enough to order something that overt!

Mrs. Hudson went back to bed for some much-needed sleep once Lestrade had left, while Sally collared Kitty and John, told them everything Beth had told her, and begged John to talk with Sherlock; the rest of them just didn't stand on familiar enough terms with the detective to discuss this. John agreed that this was far too serious a matter to wait for Beth to be ready to confide in her husband again, and promised to broach the subject that afternoon if nothing had changed. Kitty was equally horrified, the Baron had kept those particular talents well hidden from her – even from Isadora, it seemed.

Lunchtime came and went with no obvious change, so Watson went up to confront his friend, frowning when he found Holmes's empty lunch tray sitting on the landing. "Holmes?" he said softly at the door. "Are you awake?"

"Er, yes?" came the detective's voice, low and noticeably tense. "Don't come in, I'm just, ah, using the chamber pot!"

Watson's frown deepened—Holmes sounded much too suspicious for that to be the truth. He opened the door and stepped inside. "Holmes, what are you really doing?"

"No!" Holmes was fully dressed and backed into the far corner of the room, hand outstretched, the vortex manipulator strapped to his other wrist. "Stay back, Watson!"

Watson stood frozen. There was a wild look in Holmes's eyes, he wasn't at all sure the detective wouldn't start pressing buttons if he came closer. "Sherlock Holmes, are you mad?! You don't know how to work that thing—take it off!"

Holmes shook his head stubbornly, desperately. "I have to fix this!"

Hearing John's alarm, Beth sprang to life and up from the sofa and hurried to the nearest bedroom door, bursting in… And her heart skipped a beat when she saw the vortex manipulator on her husband's wrist. "Sherlock!"

Holmes paled at the sight of Beth, swearing inwardly – she wasn't supposed to see this, no one need ever have known if Watson hadn't blundered in! But it was far too late to turn back, he prayed she would understand in time... Throat closing, he mouthed "I love you", and activated the device.

"_No!_" Beth cried, then covered her mouth, feeling the colour drain completely from her face. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no…"

"Beth!" Sally came running up the stairs with Kathy wailing in her arms, heart in her mouth. "Beth, are you okay?!" What the bloody hell was going on _now_, had the Baron broken in upstairs?

Hardly less shaken than Beth, Watson answered. "Holmes—" His voice cracked; he cleared his throat and tried again. "Holmes used the vortex manipulator."

Beth whimpered. "He could be anywhere in Time and Space!"

Sally appeared in the doorway, eyes as big as saucers. "He did _what_?!"

Kitty came up behind her, looking completely bewildered. "What... what is going on? Where is Monsieur Holmes?"

Shaking, barely hearing the others, Beth hugged herself, her legs slowly folding underneath her…

Watson caught her and lifted her to her feet, holding her close. He looked at Kitty over Beth's shoulder and explained, "Ah, it's a device the Doctor gave Beth, for time travel. Holmes used it."

Clinging to John, Beth was still trembling. "He doesn't know how," she whispered. "And if he _did_ get it right…"

Watson walked her over to the bed and sat her down, still hugging her close. "If he did... we could be looking at another break in Time. The Doctor's made it very clear that we're never to go back and change our own pasts!"

"Oh_, mon Dieu_..."

Sally shivered, sitting down on Beth's other side and rubbing her back. "Then... maybe he hasn't? Is it possible he just tried to, I don't know, teleport into the Baron's library or something? I mean, I haven't noticed Mrs. Hudson's clock going nuts lately, have you?"

Kitty gave her an odd look. "No... Did he say anything before he left?" Kathy was still whimpering on her mother's lap, and Kitty impulsively picked the baby up and bounced her awkwardly in her arms, stroking the curly blonde head and cooing, "_Mais non, mais non, petite,_ all is well... Monsieur Holmes is all right..."

Watson shook his head. "Oh no, he most definitely is trying to get into the past." He hesitated, and looked down at Beth, still trembling in his arms. Dammit, he understood _why_ Holmes had gone, but didn't he stop to think about how _Beth_ might react to it? _Careful with that protectiveness, old man—remember, you're only her great-grandfather several generations removed_.

"Probably about twelve or so hours," Beth said quietly. Didn't take a genius to work that one out—and as far as grand romantic gestures went, she really could have taken a pass on this one.

"Oh my God..." Then Sally jumped as her pocket pouch _vibrated_. "What the...?" She fished out her phone, swiped the screen, and stared at it like it was an unexploded bomb. "Text message... Beth... it's from _you_!"

Beth startled upright, eyes wide. "What?!"

"See for yourself!" Holding her breath, Sally tapped the flag.

_Mycroft visiting Sunday afternoon. Tell him about the VM. Beth_

Beth leaned over to see. "Ohhhh! Of course, our phones are linked up with the TARDIS – we can send messages backwards and forwards in time!"

Watson frowned. "Back in time?" He met his wife's gaze. "Did you get a text from the future?"

Sally read the text aloud. "Looks like Beth sent... _will_ send it tomorrow afternoon."

"Beth..." Kitty said slowly, "where _is_ your phone right now?"

Beth frowned. "I don't know. Probably…" She glanced at the nightstand, which was where she remembered leaving the phone the night before, and it was empty. "Okay, not on the nightstand…"

"Oh no!" Sally groaned. It didn't take a detective to work out who had it!

"Oh… no," Beth echoed haltingly. "Why would he take it, though? Unless…"

"Unless... he had the same idea you did? Record the Baron's cruelties..." A video of Mészáros trying to seduce Beth would definitely put a stop to the wedding!

"It would seem that our detective has thought of everything—" Watson tried to keep his frustration out of his voice, but with rather less success than he wanted; "except for how this would affect Time."

Beth whimpered and put her face in her hands. _If you hadn't been so stupid, Sherlock wouldn't have gone in the first place!_

"So, Monsieur Holmes has Beth's phone?"

"Looks that way, Kitty," Sally sighed.

"Then... why don't you call him?"

Beth looked up. "But… he could be—"

Sally's phone buzzed again. "_Another_ text from you?" _Oh God..._ "It says... 'Don't call Sherlock'."

Beth felt herself go white again. "Don't call... the only reason we couldn't call him is if he's... if he's in a situation where it's too dangerous for him to get a call…" No, no, no, not again, not again, he wasn't in any condition to be in that kind of danger…

Sally took Beth's hands in hers. "Honey, it's going to be okay. At least we know you're getting your phone back by this time tomorrow – so the timeline can't be that messed up." She hoped fervently that she sounded more certain than she felt.

Beth opened her mouth… and closed it again. If there was anyone who'd know what she was feeling right now, it was definitely Sally. The early days of Frozen Time weren't too distant yet for her to remember how hard it was for Sally, knowing that a very evil man had her husband and not knowing _how_ he was doing. Beth leaned over and wound her arms around the other girl. "I'm so scared," she whispered.

Sally hugged her back tightly, murmuring, "It'll be okay, sweetie, we'll _make_ it okay. And Mycroft's going to help, too, you said as much."

"And that is all well and good..." Kitty frowned, "but what should _we_ do until then?"

Watson sighed—that _was_ the question, wasn't it? "I'm... not sure we _can_ do anything until then. Except for work out exactly what to tell Mycroft."

Sally groaned. "I'm inclined to say: everything. So we just... carry on in the meantime? Act like Sherlock's out of town till tomorrow?"

"I suppose so." Watson turned to Beth, adding gently, "And you should eat something, Beth."

"I'm not hungry." _Ugh, way to go, sounding pouty like that_.

"That's not the point, sweetie," Sally said, gently but firmly. "You've hardly eaten all day, or slept properly in two nights. How are you going to be any good to Sherlock tomorrow if you don't take care of yourself first?" Not a bad argument, John should remember that one for Sherlock!

Beth's face crumpled, _barely_ holding back her tears. She opened her mouth to argue and thought better of it again. "Okay. Fine."

Watson winced and stood, realising that sticking around would do more harm than good. _Of all of Holmes's traits, why on earth does Beth have to share his moody stubbornness?!_ "I'll see what I can find in the pantry." Mrs. Hudson was likely still asleep, since she hadn't come charging in along with the other girls.

Sally nodded gratefully. "Actually... make that an order for two?" She was starting to feel peckish herself now, and Beth might feel less self-conscious if she wasn't eating alone.

Watson smiled over his shoulder at her, letting Kitty leave the room ahead of him. "Yes, ma'am."

Beth blushed, feeling like a problem child the adults were forced to take care of. She pulled her feet up on the bed and her knees to her chest, resting her head against them and facing away from Sally, her face starting to burn in earnest. She wanted to be left alone again and she didn't, and she didn't know which she wanted more...

Sally bit her lip, reddening as she realised how presumptuous she was being. "Um... Beth, if you want me to go..."

_And now you've gone and made your best friend feel awkward, well done_… "No… I just… don't like audiences…" Bad enough Beth was the cause of all of this—even worse to be falling apart in front of everybody…

"Oh, honey..." Blinking, Sally put her arms back around Beth.

Beth flinched, too tense to relax again. "Oh, Sally, I made a huge mess." The tears finally started to spill over. "I should _never_ have gone out alone last night—Sherlock was right: I don't think, I never think, and now he's trying to fix it and who knows what will happen? He could get hurt again and it'll be my fault!"

Sally frowned deeply. "He said _that_ to you?" What a hypocrite! If Sherlock turned out to be perfectly okay, it wouldn't be for long!

Beth winced. "Sort of. Didn't you hear?—I heard clapping from upstairs when Kitty told us to shut up." She sighed. "He got after me for not opening the window to check instead of going out, and I said that I didn't want to wake anybody up but then I wasn't thinking about that when I yelled for John... He said... he said that my not thinking was finally good for something... at least somebody got to me in time…" And it had been a long time since Sherlock had talked to her like _that_…

Sally closed her eyes, mouth forming an 'o' as the anger drained out of her. "In that case, honey... I don't think Sherlock did go because of your mistake. I think he went because of his. He probably felt bad that John and the police got to you first... and he couldn't help you, because he didn't listen to _you_ about going out alone."

Beth looked up, face crumpling again—she hadn't thought of it that way. _Oh, Sherlock_… She put her feet back down and leaned into Sally's hold. "It's such a huge mess…"

"Yeah." Sally hugged Beth hard. "When that big idiot gets back, you two _really_ have to talk, okay?"

Beth bit her lip. "I know... but I don't know what to say..." Why did it feel like all of her important conversations with Sherlock had to be painful? _I don't know what to say or what to do_… _And why does it feel like I keep circling back to this point? That we both do… where everything's awful and it all hurts_… "I don't know…"

Sally grinned in sympathy. "Maybe start with 'Thank you for being so stupidly noble, and if you scare me like that again I'll strangle you'?" Words she had itched to say to John ever since he'd come back from Torchwood!

Beth gave a sobbing laugh, vision still blurry with tears that just kept coming. "_Definitely._"

"He's coming back, honey." Sally rubbed Beth's arms, then brought the text back up on her phone. "If you can't believe me, believe yourself. You wouldn't have sent this if you didn't know it would work." It had _better_ work, or she was going to have some extremely stern words with her and Beth's future selves! _Um, you do realise that'll also be Present You, yes?_

"I know…" Beth sighed and nestled closer, so close that she could hear Sally's heartbeat. "I just want things to be okay," she said softly. "I mean, why does that always seem like it's too much to ask? I swear it almost feels like we're paying right now for having a nice, peaceful Christmas…" Her voice cracked. "I just want us to be okay."

There was a soft knock at the door, and Mrs. Hudson put her head in, smiling anxiously. Thank goodness, at least Beth was off the couch and talking again! "May I come in?"

Beth nodded shyly, shame flooding her for how she'd treated the dear woman earlier. "Mrs. Hudson, I'm… sorry… for being difficult this morning."

"That's all right, dear. You aren't the first resident whose appetite even I couldn't tempt!" And the wretched man was going to get the scolding of a lifetime when he finally came back!

Sally smiled in sympathy, craning her neck to see what was on the tray. "Hasn't stopped you trying, thank God. Ooh, are those almond horns?" Mrs. Hudson had tried out Beth's family recipe at Christmas, and now every member of Team Tardis was addicted!

Beth perked up a little at the sight of her favorite pastry, wiping away her tears. "Oh wow. Those look so good, Mrs. H., thank you."

"My pleasure –" turning to Sally, "and yes, the other is for you."

"Aw, just the one?"

Beth giggled. "What, you need a second one for the baby? They're not small, Sal."

"Ohhh no," Sally chuckled, scooping hers up carefully. _Mm-mm!_ "I'm not letting Kathy get hooked on these yet. Thanks, Mrs. Hudson!"

"You're very welcome, dears." Mrs. Hudson squeezed Beth's shoulder gently before heading out and back down.

* * *

_Dearest Adelaide,_

_I write in the hope that this letter finds you well, and beg your pardon if my failure to visit you this morning has caused you concern. Rest assured that I should be at your side at this very moment, were it not for certain unavoidable, if unfortunate, circumstances: while out riding before breakfast, my horse put his foot into a rabbit hole and threw me clean over his head. Sadly, the landing dented more than my pride on this occasion, and I am now confined to my bed with a fractured rib and some mild bruising. Pray do not be alarmed, my darling. The doctor assures me that all will mend swiftly enough, but recommends complete rest for a week if I wish to be suitably fit for – oh, Adelaide, kincsem, this is not the way I would have wished to tell you! I hope I may not be in abject disgrace with you, but I have also received word only last night that certain of my business interests in Chicago urgently require my personal attention. I must therefore sail for America as soon as possible, in order that I may return in good time for the wedding, and our blissful future life together. I do not know if my health or the preparations for the trip will afford me the chance to visit you before my departure, but I shall make every effort to do so._

_With all the love that I possess, _

_I remain yours,_

_Eduárd_

* * *

The rest of the afternoon seemed to crawl by, and Beth was relieved for once to see darkness fall, a visible sign that the next day _was_ coming. She'd kept herself awake and busy by taking care of Kathy and helping Mrs. Hudson with housework, not letting herself rest again until nighttime so as not to hurt her body clock anymore than it had been.

Finally getting in bed at the end of the day was another relief, her weary body sinking gratefully against the mattress and pillows… But she was also only too aware of the empty space at her side, and she almost broke down again. _Sherlock, I'm sorry, I miss you, I miss you so much_… She decided to skim through 'The Illustrious Client' again… and finally slammed the book shut and set it aside on the nightstand. As far as seeking clues for Sherlock's whereabouts went, that was decidedly unhelpful.

A moment later, there was a knock on the hall-side door, and John's voice asking, "Beth?"

"Come in!" She pulled up her legs to sit cross-legged and pasted on a smile for John as he came in, carrying a glass of water and a bottle of sleeping pills. As exhausted as she was, she hadn't wanted to risk another restless night, and he'd concurred.

"Now, these don't take long to work, about twenty minutes, so if there's anything..." Watson spied the volume, but refrained from comment, expression resigned. "Anything else you need to do, now's the time."

She did her best to ignore his reaction to the book and shook her head. "No, I'm ready." As if to emphasise her point, she had to stifle a sudden yawn.

Watson gave Beth the glass, uncorked the bottle and dispensed a single morphine tablet. "No luck with the case, I gather." He wasn't sure whether to be glad or sorry about that, but he did understand Beth wanting to try all avenues of inquiry!

She colored a little and shook her head before taking the tablet, almost surprised he wasn't making an issue out of it. "I didn't think I would, but I was hoping I'd forgotten something," she sighed.

He nodded in sympathy, making a mental note to take extra care to give nothing away when he came to _write_ the story. "Well, it's not the first time Holmes has been out of sync with the rest of the world, but never quite like this, I'll admit."

She flashed him a tired grin and pulled the covers up over her lap. She rather thought Sherlock had always been out of sync with the rest of the world, but she wasn't sure John would appreciate her saying that. She set the glass down on the nightstand. "Thanks for this—" another yawn punctuated the end of her sentence, to her embarrassment.

"Quite all right. I promise we'll wake you if there's any developments." Though he was half-hoping there wouldn't be any before morning, so Beth could get a decent night's rest for once.

"Mm." Her mood falling again, she slid a little further under the covers. "Not holding out much hope for that."

"We'll find him, Beth," Watson said firmly, "I'm sure of it. Mycroft knows his brother better than anyone – yes, even me."

"I know," she said softly. "I know we'll find him." _And maybe if you say it enough, you'll actually believe it_… She leaned back against the headboard, just starting to feel drowsy. "I would have texted back differently if we couldn't."

"Exactly. And I think you'd best put your head down before you fall out of bed." He lifted the covers so she could snuggle down.

"Yes, Dad." Her eyes went wide as she realised what she just said.

Watson chuckled silently, immensely flattered. "Just a few generations off," he teased gently. "Now, what bedtime story would you like?"

Blushing furiously, she rolled over and buried her face in her pillow, groaning. "You sound like a dad, all right!"

"I'm relieved! Seriously, though, is there a story you'd like to hear?"

She rolled back over, cheeks still warm. "I don't know…" She certainly couldn't tell him that she'd rather hear cases from Sherlock! But… John had had a life before Sherlock… "How about," she started slowly, shyly: "what was it like growing up in Scotland?"

* * *

Morning finally arrived, and still there was no sign of Holmes. It was becoming increasingly difficult for the gang to keep their spirits up, even with the continued reassurance of Beth's text that all would become clear in just a few hours... The ringing of the doorbell after breakfast was a welcome distraction, Sally and Kitty dashing to answer it.

"_Merci_!" Kitty said smugly, taking the envelope from the messenger. She couldn't resist giving the slack-jawed youth a coquettish smile before closing the door.

"Kitty!" Sally groaned. "Let me see that! Who's it for?"

Kitty held it teasingly out of reach a moment longer, then handed it over, looking a little wistful – she never got mail. "There's no name, just the address."

Sally tore open the envelope and pulled out a telegram, reading it aloud.

BARON SAILING TO CHICAGO STOP WILL RETURN BEFORE WEDDING STOP

"_Mon Dieu_..." Kitty breathed. "From Adelaide?"

"I think it must be!" Sally took off upstairs and burst into the sitting room. "Beth! Beth, guess what?"

Beth jumped up from the table where she'd been slouching. "What?! Is it Sherlock?"

Sally winced – in that moment of excitement, she'd all but forgotten. "No, sorry. But you need to read this!" Handing Beth the telegram, "I think your visit to the Pembertons paid off."

Beth read the message and blinked. "Oh. She actually sent me word…" She almost couldn't believe it!

Sally nodded, grinning, then suddenly sobered. "God, poor Adelaide... she has absolutely no clue he's not coming back, does she?"

"He has no need to," Kitty said from the doorway, who had followed Sally at a more sedate pace. "Do you not see, _mes amies_? If Eduárd leaves Adelaide alone and unwed for long enough, she will be so desperate to be with him again, the scandal of an elopement will seem as nothing! He only needs to crook a finger for her to jump on the very next ship without a thought."

"And once she's off English soil..." Sally said slowly.

"Game over," Beth said quietly, and shivered. And he didn't care about Adelaide any more than he'd cared about any of his other victims… She looked at the telegram again. "She didn't say when he's going."

"She might not know," Sally pointed out.

"Or she might." Beth hesitated, then made up her mind. "I should go see her again."

Kitty frowned. "Beth, even if Eduárd is out of action for the moment, he will still have people watching this house – and Russell Square, too, most likely. How will you keep him from suspecting that Adelaide is cooperating with us? _Pardonnez-moi_, but your face is... rather more memorable just now."

"Well... Sherlock's got makeup supplies for his disguises. I'm sure there's something in there I can use to cover up this stuff." Beth gestured at her torn cheek.

"Yeah..." Sally mused, "but we still need to get you in unnoticed somehow."

"Well, can we work on that while we get my face taken care of?"

"_Bien_," Kitty nodded. "I can help you with that, at least. We might not match the colour precisely, but your whole face being paler will cause no remark."

Beth frowned in curiosity. "You can do stage-type makeup?"

Kitty shrugged. "Cosmetics. Is there that much difference?" Plenty of men secretly preferred their women painted like dolls!

"Ah." Stupid question—Beth should have guessed.

"I'm going to get John—he should be involved in this. Beth, do you know where Sherlock keeps his makeup?"

Beth nodded. "I saw it once."

Sally went to fetch her husband, and Beth went to Sherlock's bureau. Kitty drew up a chair from the table to the bow window, careful not to disturb the net curtains – they needed all the natural light they could get. She took the case Beth brought out and searched through it, selecting several pots of pigment powder in various shades of white, brown and red, and a small mortar and pestle. "This may take a few tries..." she murmured, involuntarily glancing up at the empty bedroom. Monsieur Holmes's expertise would have been invaluable right now!

Watson entered the room with Sally, having been shaving when the message came. "Progress?" he asked Beth.

"Well, Adelaide sent me a telegram saying that the Baron _is_ leaving the country, but she didn't say _when_, and I need to go find out how much time we have left."

"If he's gone for long enough," Sally put in, echoing Kitty, "Adelaide might be desperate enough to join him..."

"Yeah," Beth nodded. "So I need to go back to the Pembertons and... sneak in, somehow—we haven't figured that one out yet. But however we do it, we need to cover up my cheek so the scratches aren't visible."

Watson nodded, noting Kitty industriously mixing up pigments from Holmes's makeup box. "I see." He went to the box himself and rummaged through it. "Well, if you're taking that dressing off… ah." He pulled out a jar of vaseline. "Put this on first; it'll keep the powder out of the wounds."

Beth smiled faintly. "That's what I wanted to hear. Thanks, John."

Watson carefully removed the dressing from Beth's cheek and checked on how the scratches were healing (very well, fortunately!—who knew what kind of bacteria festered around that vampire's nails!), before cleaning them again and coating them with a thin layer of vaseline. "All right, that should do it. How's it coming, Kitty?"

Kitty dabbed some of the mixture onto Beth's forehead with a sponge and looked at it critically. "Hm, a little _too_ pale, perhaps. We do not want people to think you have consumption!" A touch more rouge in there...

Beth snorted weakly—and up until now she had managed to forget that tuberculosis was really A Thing in this time…

"So..." Sally said thoughtfully, "I've been thinking about getting you in... What if we got you in through the servants' entrance? As a maid? I mean, I very much doubt that anyone is going to be watching the servants closely—the serving class has gone pretty much invisible for hundreds of years at least, and in _this_ day and age, big houses have what amounts to an entire _second_ house of rooms and corridors and doors wrapped around and under the initial house just so that the upper classes don't have to _see_ the servants at all." And she'd never been happy with that idea, but if they could turn it to their advantage now...

"I like it," Beth said slowly, "but... how?"

"Well, what if _I_ went to the front door and gave them one of Sherlock's cards, and then flipped it bottom-up? And on the back, we write a message that the house is being watched, and that they need to turn me away and let _you_ in at the servants' entrance?"

A grin crept over Beth's face. "Sally, that's brilliant!"

"_Marveilleux!_"

"That… might just work," Watson said slowly. Sally had concocted what sounded like a solid plan; he just had to turn it over in his mind to make sure it would work. "You're certain Miss Pemberton will see you again?"

Beth hesitated. "I... hope so. I know I left her with a lot to think about, and all of it painful. But... the fact is she told me she _would_ think about it, and she _did_ send me the telegram."

Watson nodded. "Very true."

"So... all we need now is a maid's uniform, _oui_?"

Watson smiled. "That won't be a problem. Excuse me a moment." He went for the stepladder and carried it up to the second floor landing, the girls following him as he passed the sitting room.

"Want a hand with that?" Sally asked, uneasily remembering the Christmas decoration episode.

"I'm all right." Watson smiled reassuringly. "I could use some help to search, though—Holmes has amassed quite the collection." Although when the collection was moved from the bedroom to the attic to accommodate Beth's things, Mrs. Hudson had taken advantage of the relocation to get rid of the most _authentic_-smelling disguises.

"I swear," Beth muttered, "if Sherlock has ever actually gone out somewhere disguised as a maid…"

Sally couldn't help giggling, while Kitty snorted with laughter. "_Ça alors_! That would be a sight!" And the most incongruous part of that mental image was Sherlock Holmes, ingrained slob, doing _housework_.

* * *

**Sky:** So, when I told Ria I didn't remember how this fresh subplot came together, she said, and I quote, "I believe I was being evil." Basically, that's a good summary of how we come up with these stories in the first place: one or both of us are being evil, lol.

Historically—and totally canonically—communication is not Sherlock Holmes's strong point. That man will do crazy things—again, completely canonical!—to avoid having difficult conversations. In this particular scenario, he was gonna do something stupid, and the Vortex Manipulator was the likeliest candidate.

Which reminds me: I really hope nobody at this point is wondering why not take the VM and go undo stuff. Because easy answer is: taking a time machine and going back to actually undo something is a recipe for trouble. Doctor Who has episodes about why this is not a good idea, Steven Freaking King wrote a book about why this is not a good idea, and _we_ personally wrote a fourish-episode season finale about what happens when Time gets messed with. Bad Things Happen.

None of which, of course, makes any difference to the Great Detective when he's _really_ upset. So stay tuned to find out how that pans out!


	14. Trust Me

**=Chapter 14=**

**Trust Me**

_Scars speak more loudly than the sword that caused them._

– Paulo Coelho, Manuscript Found in Accra

Stuck outside in the morning chill, Beth was starting to feel as if she'd been waiting at the servants' entrance of the Pembertons' house forever. She had to start shifting from foot to foot to keep her circulation going and avoid turning into an icicle. Having no way of knowing if the butler or footman or whoever would cooperate, she began to expect Sally to show up to tell her the plan was a no-go…

But she exhaled sharply in relief as the door finally opened. A man stuck his head out, the footman from her last visit, eyes wide. "Mrs. 'Olmes?" He hastily amended: "Mrs. Holmes?"

She grinned and nodded. "Mind if I come in? It's cold out here."

The man opened the door wider and moved aside, allowing a very grateful Beth inside. "Miss Pemberton will be pleased to receive you. Please follow me." He led the way through the servants' passages and up a flight of back stairs, Beth irresistibly reminded of Rosewood and how much fun she and the younger boys would have chasing each other around those hidden corridors. They eventually came out onto a 'proper' hallway from a disguised door, another elegantly-carved door standing opposite. The footman crossed over and knocked, and Adelaide's voice called "Enter!" from within.

The footman opened the door, not faltering again despite the odd circumstances. "Mrs. Holmes, my lady."

Beth smiled sheepishly at Adelaide as she stepped inside, hugging herself, still cold. "Good morning, Adelaide."

Adelaide gave her a wan smile in return. "Good morning." Then the smile vanished as she took another look at Beth's pale face. "Oh, my dear, are you all right? Come sit by the fire, you look terribly chilled!"

"Thank you," Beth said feelingly, then gave a huff of laughter. "January continues to be stupidly cold." She sat beside Adelaide on the sofa and sighed happily as she began to warm back up. But then turning to the older girl and looking her over, she didn't like what she saw. "You don't look so good yourself, honey—are _you_ all right?"

"Oh..." Adelaide blushed, not quite meeting Beth's eyes. "Yes, quite all right, thank you. I just... didn't sleep very well last night, that's all." She had tossed and turned for hours, agonising over whether to keep the promise she had so impulsively made to Beth. Was it even duty that had driven her to keep her word, or irritation with Eduard for leaving her?

Beth hummed empathetically. "I'm sorry. I know how you feel—I haven't been sleeping very well lately, either." She shivered involuntarily, unwillingly recalling the dreams that had crept into her sleep here and there the night before, most involving Sherlock… _Come on, focus_. "Um... thank you for sending the telegram; I really appreciate it. I just, uh... I wonder if you happen to know _when_ the Baron is leaving?"

Adelaide shook her head. "I don't think Eduárd knew himself when he wrote."

Beth frowned. "That's… unfortunate. I was hoping to get a clearer idea of when."

"Well, I don't imagine for another week or so. Eduárd only received word that he had to leave two nights ago. I mean, surely you know yourself how long such arrangements can take?"

Beth tilted her head in confusion. "I'm sorry?"

Adelaide looked at her in mild surprise. "When you came here from America." Seeing Beth suddenly looking awkward, she amended hastily, "I beg your pardon. Of course, your parents must have seen to most of that." And thinking of her fiancé had put Adelaide in mind of what else she had to confess.

Beth winced—she was slipping out of character and she needed to drill her own story into her head later. "Yeah, ah, it's… complicated." _No way Mama and Daddy would ever actually let me travel alone_… She shook herself, and came back to a rather depressing realisation. "Um… okay, darn it…" It seemed as though they'd put in all this work on getting her in here for nothing. She pressed the heels of her hands into her still-tired eyes, rubbing at them—a smearing of powder on her hand reminded her that she was still wearing makeup, and she stopped, hoping she hadn't damaged it.

"Beth, there is... something else I need to tell you." Adelaide bit her lip, looking up. "The night you came to see me, I am afraid that Eduárd..." then trailed off in mild bemusement as Beth lowered her hands – why was she suddenly wearing cosmetics this morning?

"...came over and asked about me?"

Adelaide tried not to stare at the darker skin around Beth's eye, almost making her look as if she was wearing a monocle. "Er, yes, he... saw you leaving. I'm sorry, I had to tell him the truth, I didn't know if he knew what you looked like..."

Beth nodded and shivered. '_Poor Adelaide, I almost became cross with her…'_ "No," she said softly, "it's okay. He was angry, yes? Or almost angry?"

"No... Agitated, certainly. His concern for Miss Winter..." Adelaide blinked. Now, why had she even been thinking about Kitty, the poor woman was none of her concern!

Beth frowned uneasily, something was wrong about the way Adelaide hadn't finished her thought.

"And I am afraid he still has little sympathy for your husband," Adelaide went on apologetically. "...How is Mr. Holmes?"

Beth bit her lip, chest tightening, and looked down. "I... I don't know. He... ah... he disappeared yesterday. We... we haven't been able to find him yet."

Adelaide paled. "No! Oh, Beth!" Forgetting all else, she reached out and took Beth's hand in hers. It didn't matter any more what she had once thought of Mr. Holmes, the haunted look in his young wife's eyes told Adelaide everything she needed to know!

Beth swallowed hard, the older girl's concern almost undoing her defenses… _I can't break down now, I _can't_… _A tear slipped out down her left cheek, and she wiped at it with her free hand…Zed, her whole face was covered in makeup and now was exactly the wrong time for tears. She stared at the powder on her hand, as if just focusing on it could take away the pain in her chest. "Oh, zed. And Kitty did such a nice job…"

"Kitty..." Adelaide's forehead creased, trying to keep hold of thoughts that were suddenly doing their best to slide away from her, head starting to ache. "But... why _are_ you wearing powder? I understand the maid's uniform, your note said the house was being watched..." She gasped. "Oh my goodness! Beth, if someone is watching places you might go... what if it's the very same people who took Mr. Holmes? We must send a message to Scotland Yard at once!" She rose and turned towards the bell.

Taken aback by Adelaide's sudden energy, Beth recovered just in time to take the other girl by the arms and gently pull her back down. "No, no, Adelaide… We've already been working with the police, and they can only do so much, unfortunately." _Don't do it, the makeup was supposed to protect _you—_no, it doesn't matter who else sees this: _she_ needs to_. "Hold a mo'." She carefully began to wipe away the powder covering her torn cheek with a handkerchief, wincing, working parallel to the cuts and taking some of the vaseline with the powder by accident. Once she was satisfied she'd gotten enough off, she stopped and looked back up at Adelaide, smiling mirthlessly. "Hi."

"Dear God..." Adelaide whispered, staring at the marks in horror. "Beth, what _happened_ to you?!"

Beth bit her lip again and squeezed her eyes shut, a lump rising in her throat. _Mi querida_… "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"_What_ wouldn't I believe?" Adelaide coloured as she realised how sharp she sounded, her anxiety must be getting the better of her. "Oh, my dear, I'm so sorry... but those scratches... Did some creature claw you?"

Beth shivered again, not only at the memory but in the fear that Adelaide would throw her out for her answer. _Why does that bother me? I shouldn't care, right?_ "In a manner of speaking," she said softly. She forced herself to look up and meet the other girl's eyes. "I came to see you that night, even after Sherlock had already been hurt… so I had to suffer the consequences."

"Consequences..." Adelaide frowned, then her eyes widened. "No..." Beth _couldn't_ mean...

Beth braced herself, trembling. "Adelaide," she started in a small voice, "it was Baron Mészáros who did this."

Furious, Adelaide opened her mouth to deliver a blistering response... then it dawned on her how very _fragile_ Beth looked just now, on the verge of falling apart, her tears were real... Whatever _had_ happened to Beth, it had clearly left her convinced that Eduárd was the attacker, and a vehement denial on Adelaide's part would do nothing to change that! She would have to do what Beth had told her to, since the poor girl was in no fit state to do so now: find out the truth for herself. But she had to tread carefully – the last thing she wanted was for Beth to go running in distress from the house and into danger like Kitty had... Adelaide frowned as the headache resurfaced, rubbing her temples distractedly – not _now_, she hadn't the time for a dizzy spell! "Beth," she began slowly, choosing her words with care, "I can only imagine what it's cost you to come here and... and tell me all of this. I won't lie to you, I still have the greatest difficulty even entertaining the notion that... that Eduárd could hurt anyone so..." Bracing herself, "But whatever you choose to tell me about what happened, I promise you that I will listen."

Beth blinked, unsure of how to feel. _On one hand, she's willing to hear me out… on the other hand, she probably thinks I'm delusional like Kitty_. A voice that sounded much like the Doctor's whispered, _Just tell the truth_.

She nodded slowly. "The night I came here... in the wee hours, I was woken by a noise on the window, so I got up to look and saw what looked like... like one of the boys Sherlock hires to help on his cases. The Baker Street Irregulars. I'd been worried about them, so I went out to check on them, only…" She shivered, the memory of being unable to move too fresh in her mind. "When I went out, I was... I was restrained from behind. He…" She exhaled shakily, recalling the moment she had been unable to. "He gagged me until I agreed not to call for help... and when he turned me around... he introduced himself as Baron Eduárd Mészáros." She laughed weakly. "I can't imagine there are too many tall, dark, and handsome posh Hungarians running around London. He wanted…" She squeezed her eyes shut again, shuddering. _Adelaide, Kitty, all of those other women, they are nothing… nothing compared to what I shall make _you…

"He wanted me," she forced out in a whisper. "Because I'm smart… because I got in his way…" She opened her eyes. "Because I came to see you. He said he almost became cross with you—and, Adelaide, I swear, I never meant for that to happen!"

Adelaide shivered herself as she listened, feeling sick, and remaining silent with difficulty despite her promise. Against her will, the memory returned of Eduárd's uncharacteristic tension that evening, the coldness in his eyes while they'd discussed the Holmeses... As Beth paused for breath, she took the younger girl's cold hands back in hers, squeezing them in mute encouragement to continue.

Warmed if only briefly by the gesture, Beth pressed on. "He... he touched me—held me... kissed me…" Zed, she was sick of having to describe the… the sexual assaults she'd survived. _Sick of having to survive them in the first place_… "He called me _tesoro_—I'm part-Spanish; it means 'treasure.' As if he already considered me his."

Adelaide's hands tightened unconsciously on Beth's, paling – she also knew the Spanish word for 'treasure', and in Hungarian, too... _kinscem_... How could Beth's attacker possibly have known... _Beth_ certainly couldn't have... could she? Eduárd had given Adelaide the distinct impression that he'd never encountered Beth before seeing her at the door that evening – oh, _why_ hadn't she thought to ask him about that?

"He... I begged him to let me go, and he wouldn't listen!" Beth closed her eyes again, tears leaking out—as if it wasn't bad enough that she felt one man's phantom touches from time to time… she now had another set to drive her mad… "He wouldn't stop! So... I was trying to get free the whole time—then he was distracted by a noise, and I managed it... And... I... I fought him. That's when this—" she gestured at her cheek— "happened. I screamed, too, and he ran off when he heard the constables and the boys running to help." She shivered again, not certain what she would have done if he hadn't decided discretion was the better part of valour.

"You... fought him..." A horrible suspicion was growing in Adelaide's mind, and refused to be quieted.

Beth grimaced and nodded. "I… um… I definitely injured his torso, although I'm not sure how badly." She frowned at the other girl's expression. "Adelaide?"

Adelaide barely heard her name, thoughts whirling: a supposed accident the very next morning, a fractured rib... Eduárd hadn't come near her since that night... "What... what _did_ you do?" she whispered, then seeing Beth's hesitation, repeated urgently, "Beth, please, you must tell me: how did you hurt him?" She reddened at her disgraceful slip of the tongue – as if she already half-believed Beth's version of events! – but it was too late to take it back now.

Beth flinched and looked down, swallowing hard—she didn't want to _say_ any of this, not to _Adelaide_. "I… set… his shirt… on fire." She looked up again, silently begging Adelaide to understand. "He was much too strong for me!—and I had a lighter in my coat pocket and I used it and kept him distracted long enough... Long enough to scorch _my_ skin, too…"

Adelaide listened half in horror, half in relief at first – Eduárd's injury was a fractured rib, not burns, it _couldn't_ have been him! But the nagging doubts still wouldn't be silenced: Eduárd had instructed her not to come visit him... and bandages could hide a multitude of sins... "Show me..." The whisper slipped out before she could stop it, and Adelaide's face turned deep crimson, hiding it in her hands. "...oh _God_..." Never in her life had she said anything so insulting to _anyone_ – not to mention scandalous!

Beth was startled speechless for a moment, and then… _I don't want to, but if it will help…! At least let these stupid burns be worth it, then!_ She put a comforting hand on Adelaide's arm, then began to lift her skirt and apron up over her petticoat.

"_Oh!_" Adelaide looked up at the rustle of cloth, aghast, averting her eyes as she blinked back tears of shame. "Oh, Beth, no, _pray_ don't! I'm so sorry, I can't _think_ what made me...!"

Beth shook her head, resolute. "It's okay." She smiled sadly. "I won't tell if you won't…" Revealing the bandages at her waist, she peeled back enough of one for the other girl to see.

Adelaide bit her lip, plucking up courage – this was a just penance for her shocking impertinence! She looked back again, breath catching at the sight of Beth's reddened and peeling skin, tears spilling over in sympathy. She could only imagine how painful that must be!

Beth's own vision blurring at the other girl's sympathy, she tried to smile reassuringly. "Hey, hey," she said softly, "it's okay." She squeezed Adelaide's shoulder comfortingly. "I've had much worse than this."

Adelaide gazed at Beth in horrified awe, speechless. This girl... young woman was so much braver than Adelaide could ever hope to be, had borne so much... How could she be so forbearing towards someone she must hold at least partly responsible for what had happened to her _and_ her husband?

Embarrassed, Beth chewed at her lip as she lowered her skirts, rearranging them. "I should probably… go… We still need to try to... find Sherlock... but, um... before I do... I was wondering if, ah…" She coloured slightly. "If you'd asked the Baron... about how he met Kitty?"

"Kitty?" Adelaide frowned, why was Beth bringing her up _again_? She winced, the earlier nagging headache suddenly returning in force. "Oh..." She shook her head, thoughts growing clouded, voice distant. "Paris... they met in Paris..."

Beth frowned, her unease returning in full force. "I know, but _how?_"

"It does not matter, _drágám_," Adelaide murmured dreamily. "There is no story..." Then she blinked, shaking her head again. "Oh, good heavens, how rude of me!" What was she thinking, daydreaming at such a moment! "I'm so sorry, Beth, what were you saying?"

Eyes wide, Beth instantly recognised the foreign word—Nikola had used a variant of it often. A chill ran through her—somewhere at the back of her mind, she had never thought that someone could actually be hypnotised like this, but this was hearing Mészáros's words come out of Adelaide's mouth! "Adelaide," Beth said slowly, "I need you to repeat after me, all right? _How Eduárd met Kitty _does_ matter_."

Adelaide stared. "W-what are you...? _Oh_..." She had to rest her head in her hands, the band of iron around her temples firmly back in place. "Beth," she said faintly, "would you please ring the bell? I have _such_ a headache!" And why did she suddenly have the strangest feeling of _déjà vu_?

Scared now, Beth gritted her teeth, wishing she knew how exactly to handle this. _I don't want to hurt her, but maybe there's a chance_… She closed her eyes for a moment, then lightly gripped the other girl's shoulders in both hands, her tone gentle but firm. "Adelaide? I need you to look at me, honey."

Adelaide lifted her head slowly, trying to smile. "It's nothing, really; just the strain of the last few days, I expect. Eduárd warned me not to overdo things, I really ought to have listened!"

Beth sighed. "Adelaide, that was definitely _not_ nothing. Look, I know this is going to sound crazy, but I need you to try very hard to repeat after me, all right?"

Adelaide looked at Beth dubiously – right now, all she wanted was to take a headache remedy and lie down, but if this would make the wretched girl stop pestering her... "Very well..." she sighed, the pain making her sound more petulant than she'd intended.

Heart hammering, Beth spoke very slowly, still holding Adelaide's shoulders and maintaining eye contact. "_How Eduárd met Kitty _does_ matter._"

Adelaide struggled to keep looking at Beth, her eyes trying to unfocus themselves, head aching fiercely. _Why_ was it suddenly so hard to say a few nonsense words, or even to _think_?! "H-how... Ed... Eduárd..." _"Adelaide, look into my eyes. It does not matter, __drágám__."_ "...Eduárd...? Why? I thought..." "_Shh, shh, __kincsem__, let go. Just let go..._" Adelaide shuddered involuntarily, what ought to have been a soothing, trusted voice causing fear to stab through her; a whimper slipped out as ghostly but powerful arms pulled her close, smothering her against his chest... "..._No_..."

Beth could only watch in growing concern and fear as Adelaide seemed to slip inside herself. _Please, don't let me have damaged her by accident, _please… "Adelaide?" Beth rubbed the other girl's arms soothingly. "Adelaide, it's okay, honey, you're all right…" Her voice dropped to a whisper: "Please be all right…"

"_It's all right, kincsem... you will be all right... trust me..." _Adelaide shrank from the touch on her arms with a moan, flesh crawling. "Nooo!"

Beth's heart leapt into her throat. "Adelaide? Oh no, no, no, no…" _What can I do, what can I do, what can I— Get Adelaide's father_. "Help! Somebody, help, please!"

The footman burst in. "Oh my gawd..." He hurried forward. "My lady?" When no response came, he turned to Beth. "Is she ill? What's 'appened?"

Beth shook her head. "Is the General in the house? She needs her father!"

He nodded, going over to the butler's bell and ringing it vigorously. "Jus' wait till Mr. Benson gets 'ere. Can we lay 'er down, d'yer think?"

"I don't... I'm not sure." _I don't know what to do! I messed up and I don't know how to make it right!_ "It might not be a good idea, trying to move her."

"Yeah, s'pose not..." Then the youth stiffened to attention as the butler and General Pemberton entered, muttering, "Oh, bloody 'ell..."

"What is going on in... _Adelaide!_" Pemberton rushed to his daughter's side without a second glance for anyone else.

Beth wished she could fall right through the floor and die, rather than having to face Adelaide's father after hurting her. "Oh, General, thank goodness. Adelaide's bordering on catatonic—we have to snap her out of it!"

"Crowther, fetch Dr. Ainsworth –" Pemberton barked at the footman, "quickly!" He knelt at Adelaide's feet, looking up into his daughter's white face, heart breaking at the look of sheer, unreasoning terror in her eyes. Taking her trembling hands in his, he said gently, "Adelaide? Adelaide, dearest, it's Papa – can you hear me?" But Adelaide's expression barely flickered. "What happened?" he said to the maid in attendance, more sharply than he'd intended, then started as he finally _looked_ at the young woman's face. "Mrs Holmes!"

Beth flinched, heart beating too quickly. "Adelaide sent me a message this morning, so I came here to follow up on it, and yes, in disguise because both our houses are being watched! We were talking, and everything was fine, until I asked her about something that I'd suggested she ask the Baron, and I think she must have, but she didn't reply _consciously_—it was almost like his voice was coming out of her mouth, she didn't even know she'd said it! I tried to help her... break that mental block, and instead she... she slipped into the memory and now she can't break out of it!"

The General's eyes turned steely with anger. "He's been _hypnotising her?!_"

Beth nodded mutely, trying not to cry.

Pemberton took a deep breath. "All right. Against my better judgement, madam, you seem to know best what that man is capable of..." His voice trembled, hands tightening on Adelaide's; "and what he's done to my child. How can I bring her back?"

Beth opened her mouth to admit that she didn't know… and paused. _"I tried to use that memory to fight him. ...Watson chose far more wisely than I. A very special memory, one that we shared… of when we all came back together at Baker Street_._"_ She _did_ know after all! "Talk to her. Give her good memories, strong ones that can break through the one she's stuck in. It's your best chance—I've seen it work before."

Pemberton bit his lip, trying desperately to think of something that would work, but nothing came immediately to mind. "Oh, Addy girl," he murmured despairingly, "what have I done?"

Amid the fog in her head, Adelaide heard another voice, distant, but one she'd know anywhere, no matter how far away, or how scared she was… "_Papa_…"

Beth gasped softly as Adelaide's lips silently moved, tears falling. "Don't stop now!" she whispered.

Pemberton's heart thudded painfully in his breast at the glimmer of reason returning to those distant, frightened eyes – he had used his daughter's childhood name unthinkingly, but it seemed to have been exactly the right thing to say. "Addy?" he coaxed. "Addy girl? Come now, dearest, time to wake up..."

Adelaide's hands clenched, her father's voice still maddeningly far away, she wanted him back, she was so sorry for ever having been unkind, she just wanted him back… "Papa?"

Her father stroked her fingers, answering cheerfully, "Yes, Addy girl, I'm here. Time to rise and shine, my darling." What was that song he used to sing for her when she was little? "_Lavender's blue, Addy, Addy, lavender's green; When I am King, Addy, Addy, you'll be my queen..._"

She'd almost forgotten that song, how much she'd loved it, and Papa's voice sounded nearer and nearer, somehow the fog and the weight bearing down on her were lifting… "Papa?" And then he was there, right before her, and her head was clear and she could breathe again… and she burst into tears.

"Addy!" Pemberton embraced his daughter, his own eyes filling with tears. "Oh, my girl!" Thank God...

"Oh, Papa!" Adelaide clung to him, burying her face in his shoulder as she sobbed.

Beth, already silently crying, stood and backed away, feeling painfully guilty both for creating this situation and for intruding on a terribly private moment.

Oblivious, Pemberton rocked Adelaide gently, rubbing her back. "There, there, love," he murmured, "it's all right... I have you, you're safe..."

The footman entered and cleared his throat. "Doctor Ainsworth's here, sir."

Pemberton looked up, nodding gratefully, then noticed with chagrin that Beth was standing wide-eyed and neglected in the corner. "Er, Mrs. Holmes? Perhaps you might be of further assistance? Beg the doctor's pardon, and ask him to wait a minute longer while my daughter composes herself a little?"

Beth nodded, wiping at her own tears, and left the room.

* * *

Besides the severe shock to Adelaide's nerves, the doctor couldn't find anything physically wrong. She was put to bed with a mild sedative, her personal maid watching over her for the night. The General pulled Beth aside privately and thanked her profusely; once Adelaide had rested and everything had been explained to her, he was sure the wedding would be off. He would make certain there was no more contact between Adelaide and the Baron before the man left the country. Doubt, however, still niggled at Beth's mind. She couldn't rid herself of the nagging thought that she herself might have forgiven Sherlock anything, made excuses for him, if he'd been the sort of man to take advantage of her… And if _she_ felt like that, how might Adelaide feel even now about the man she loved?

Beth was escorted back to Baker Street by Dr. Ainsworth, the good doctor more than willing to do the job. And even though she was sure he had to be curious about Sherlock's condition—a celebrity detective reportedly at death's door—he didn't inquire, and she appreciated it. She wasn't sure how she would have handled trying to talk about her husband right now…

* * *

"Guys, Mycroft's here!" Sally waved down from her post in the bow window. Right on one o'clock, too, how did he keep doing that? Mycroft's footsteps on the stairs when Mrs. Hudson let him in were noticeably hastier than his usual heavy, measured tread – a dead giveaway that the senior Holmes brother was no more immune to anxiety than the rest of them.

Mrs. Hudson had never been so grateful to announce: "Mr. Mycroft."

Mycroft set a wrapped parcel on the sideboard, and nodded to the anxious group gathered. "Good afternoon, all." Everyone was accounted for, including the former Torchwood agent and 'foreign correspondent' Miss Winter, and frustratingly _ex_cluding his brother. His eyebrows knit briefly as he took in his sister-in-law's face, pale and dark-ringed and very clearly _clawed_… He went to her to embrace her, and he could feel the tension in her body, the poor thing. When all was said and done, he didn't think he would be receiving an account of what had happened to her... but, knowing Mészáros, he didn't need to. "What has my brother gotten himself into now?" he managed with a trace of levity.

"We're not exactly sure..." Beth hesitated, having no idea of how to begin to explain this all to Mycroft.

"You might want to sit down, Mycroft," Watson stepped in. "This is going to take a while to explain. Oh, but first, allow me to introduce a friend of ours, Kitty Winter. She's been of great assistance to us with the case."

Kitty blushed, taken aback by the compliment.

"Ah." Mycroft took the woman's hand and bowed over it. "Good afternoon, Miss Winter."

"_Bonjour, monsieur._"

Mycroft turned to Sally and the baby. "And good afternoon to you, Mrs. Watson, Miss Watson."

"Hello, Mycroft." Sally gave him a tired smile, while Kathy chirped solemnly.

Mycroft settled on the settee. "Now then. What seems to be the trouble? Even in poor health, it is not unheard of for Sherlock to disappear without warning while on a case."

"True..." Watson nodded, a note of grim humour entering his voice, "but this would be the first time he's done it by travelling through Time."

Mycroft's eyebrows shot up. "And how exactly did he manage that?" he said slowly, though not displeased that they were bringing this little charade to a complete end. "I was unaware that the Doctor was involved in the case."

The ensuing silence was broken by Beth giggling—more than a little hysterically, so she quickly pulled herself back under control, clearing her throat. "Not directly, no. The Doctor gave me a time-travel device, which Sherlock doesn't really know how to use, but he used it anyway. We _think_ he meant to go back in time by about a day from yesterday afternoon, but almost right away we got a message from later on _today_, telling us you were coming today and to tell you about the device. So we figured Sherlock would end up in today rather than Friday, but we don't know _where_."

Mycroft frowned. "A message from whom?"

"From us." Sally showed Mycroft the text messages. "These portable telephones, they're from the Doctor, and they can call or send messages anywhere, at any time. We think Sherlock may have taken Beth's with him, to record what…" She faltered, looking apologetically at Beth; "what happened Friday night. But if the message is from this afternoon, we can only assume Beth's going to get it back pretty shortly – but only as long as we follow our own instructions."

"I see." Mycroft turned to Beth, asking gently, "May I inquire as to what happened on Friday?"

Beth didn't meet his eyes. "I, uh, had a run-in with the Baron during the night." She gestured at her cheek, which twitched in response. "Out back."

"Beth managed to keep Mészáros occupied until help arrived," Watson put in, "but we think that Holmes attempted to use the device in order to intervene sooner."

Mycroft nodded gravely—Sherlock was overprotective enough of everyone else in his life, and his protectiveness towards his_ wife_ was surely too great to be measured! "I am certain he did." He leaned back, fingers steepled. "Well, whatever Sherlock's intentions regarding the time, he would most certainly choose _where_ to reappear very carefully. Somewhere nearby, so as not to overexert himself before the crucial moment…"

"And private, also, _oui_?" said Kitty.

"Exactly. He would need to be certain of no witnesses at any given time."

"Well, the flat's definitely no good, then," Sally said firmly. "There's been people here 24/7 since the case started!" Oh God... what if Sherlock had tried to go back _further_ than that? Monday morning, for instance...

Beth tilted her head. "One of his boltholes, maybe?"

Mycroft looked towards the window, Camden House across the way just visible through mostly-drawn curtains. "Not quite…"


	15. The Empty House, Redux

**==Chapter 15=**

**The Empty House, Redux**

_Remember,_

_Whenever you feel the weight of the darkness in this world,_

_do not be afraid._

_The shadows can never truly overtake you._

_You are a beacon of light._

_They need you to survive._

– Always keep your demons on their knees / k.s.

"Nnnghhh..." His head hurt... no, all of him hurt... Why was his bed so hard...

"Well, well, well, look who's finally waking up, lads?"

Holmes stiffened in alarm at the rough, leering voice, cracking his eyes open to find himself lying on a bare wood floor, gagged with some foul-tasting rag and bound at the wrists and ankles. He stared at the men in front of him in bleary dismay, recognising some of them from the night of the ambush... especially the leader. How the bloody hell had he fallen into the clutches of the Baron's thugs a _second_ time?!

Barney Stockdale laughed unpleasantly. "Confused, Mr. Detective? That was quite the little trick yew pulled, popping up 'ere out of nowhere. Don't suppose—" the thug pulled the vortex manipulator from his pocket and dangled it in front of Holmes's face; "_this_ little toy 'as anything to do with that?"

Holmes paled, stomach knotting in dread. There wasn't a thing he could do to stop any of the gang from activating the device and making things far, far worse than they already were. He could vaguely recall passing through the Vortex, but nothing after that, he must have passed out on re-entry. And the detective could see now that he was exactly where he'd meant to end up: Camden House, the paper peeling off the walls of this mostly empty upstairs room, the rooftop and chimney of his own flat just visible through the dusty window. Holmes closed his eyes in despair and fury at his own stupidity – _why_ hadn't he at least considered that this house might be occupied?

"Reckon 'is Lordship'll be interested in that!" one of the other thugs piped up – Stockdale's lieutenant Roberts, if Holmes remembered correctly.

"Aye, that 'e will," Stockdale smirked.

" 'E don't even 'ave to scarper off across the ditch tomorrow night," a third gang member grunted, "now that we've _got_ Sherlock Bleedin' 'Olmes 'ere, all wrapped up neat as yew please!"

Holmes's ears pricked up – so the Baron _hadn't_ planned on going to America! But... _tomorrow night_... if this was Friday afternoon... then there was no time for Beth and the others to find out on Saturday which ship Mészáros was taking across the Channel, assuming he could even _get_ a message to them! God, he'd fouled things up so badly... He should have listened to Beth from the very first!

"Ah, which reminds me..." Stockdale moved around Holmes and yanked off his signet ring, twirling it round. "Pretty thing, innit?"

"Boss, yew can't fence that."

"It's not to _sell_, yew mug. Wot's the point of tellin' other blokes yew caught Sherlock Bleedin' 'Olmes if yew don' 'ave the proof?"

Holmes had been taken completely unawares by the theft, fists clenching reflexively but too late. Oh _hell_, what else had they taken, had he been searched? He struggled to move against his bonds, ignoring Stockdale's appreciative chuckle, and sagged in relief on feeling the shape of Beth's phone still in his inside coat pocket, although his gun was missing from the outer pocket. He prayed that Beth wouldn't think to contact him with Sally's phone now, this would be the very worst moment for that! Then a shooting pain in the detective's side made him gasp as Stockdale lashed out with a boot.

"Boss," whined a fourth thug, whom Holmes was grimly pleased to note was still visibly bruised from their last encounter, "yew said we couldn' touch 'im!"

Stockdale snorted. "Well, if Oi let _yew_ at 'im, there wouldn't be much left of 'im at th' end of it, would there be?"

Thug Number Three smiled nastily, cracking his knuckles. "Oi reckon we could 'ave a little fun with 'im if we don't break 'im. Gonna be a while yet afore Tom gets back from informin' 'is Lordship."

"True 'nuff..." Stockdale's smile was even nastier. "What yew reckon, Mr. 'Olmes? Yew game for some en'ertainment?"

Holmes stared back at the gang leader scornfully, then gave a curt nod, doing his best to ignore both the ache in his ribs and the icy chill going down his spine. Last time, at least someone at home would have missed him and come searching before morning; this time, no one would even think to begin looking for him for another twenty-four hours! He had no choice but to play the gang's game, and watch like a hawk for any chance to escape – preferably before he and Mészáros crossed paths again... because Holmes was under no illusions about what would happen then.

* * *

Mrs. Hudson knocked on the sitting room door again. "My apologies for interrupting, ladies and gentlemen, but Inspectors Lestrade and Patterson are downstairs and wishing to come up. They say the matter is important."

The group exchanged worried glances. "By all means, Mrs. Hudson," Watson said hastily, "send them up."

When Lestrade and Patterson entered the sitting room, Lestrade was momentarily surprised to see _Mycroft_ Holmes sitting there, and then chided himself. Mycroft had little motivation to move from place to place any more than necessary, but he wasn't heartless. He wouldn't stay away from his brother's side for long at a time like this.

"Good afternoon, everyone," Lestrade nodded. After the returned greetings, he continued: "Is Mr. Holmes—Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I mean—available? He will probably want to hear what we have to say."

The gang sagged as one, faces falling – they'd all _really_ been hoping that the Yarders had brought them news _about_ the detective!

Mycroft sighed in resignation. "I am sorry to say, Inspectors, that while in pursuit of Baron Mészáros, my brother appears to have performed his habitual disappearing act, at the most inopportune moment – although we by no means despair of his imminent return. In the meantime, do please make your report."

Patterson raised an eyebrow, but Lestrade caught his eye and shook his head minutely, returning his attention to the group and clearing his throat. He knew from long years of experience to take the path of least resistance and visit this disappearance later. "Very well, then. After the younger Mr. Holmes's... misfortune... with a gang, I asked Inspector Patterson here if he would lend a hand in this case against Baron Mészáros, considering his experience with difficult suspects." He nodded to his colleague, who stepped forward.

"There is no great story, ladies and gentlemen," Patterson began, as calmly as if he were discussing the weather: "I merely disguised myself and kept watch on Baker Street and the surrounding area at intervals. At one point, I caught sight of one of the known members of Barney Stockdale's gang of roughs and thieves and followed him—all the way to the Baron's residence in Norwood. After that, I returned to confirm that this house has been watched by men residing in its counterpart across the street, Camden House. They have likely occupied the place since before I was called in on this investigation, and I know for a fact that they are there still – hence our arrival at the back door."

There was a long moment of stunned silence from the rest of the room, broken by Watson's horrified murmur, "Oh my God..."

The Yarders were both taken aback, Lestrade particularly noting how Mrs. Holmes's injured face had instantly turned bone-white.

Mycroft struggled to his feet. "Inspectors, assemble your men at once. If I am not greatly mistaken," and how he prayed that he was! "Sherlock is in Camden House with Stockdale's gang at this very moment!"

"But how?" Patterson all but gaped, a loss of composure no one but Lestrade knew him well enough to appreciate. "Surely we would have spotted that!"

Lestrade shook his head. "Leave it for now, Patterson." He turned back to the group. "We were about to conduct a raid on the house; we already had enough to charge them with, breaking and entering."

"We're going to have to be very, _very_ quiet to avoid a hostage situation," Patterson mused grimly.

"Would a diversion help?" Watson had stood with Mycroft, and was now looking thoughtfully across the street at the dust-covered windows of Camden House. "I may have an idea..."

* * *

With the gag left on so he couldn't call for help, Holmes's legs were freed and his hands retied in front of him. Despite the risk to the timeline, he had resolved to break the nearest window at the first opportunity, which was certain to attract the attention of the constables outside 221B. At least the odds were marginally better with only four opponents rather than the entire gang, and mercifully without weapons this time, too. Stockdale had also forbidden any blows to Holmes's head – making sure he'd be able to talk for the Baron, Holmes surmised grimly.

Refusing to be drawn into striking first, the detective backed up against the nearest wall and waited for his opponents to make the first move. They had clearly learned caution after the last time, coming at him in a rush from all sides. He let the two at his left and right – the knuckle-cracker and the whining thug – catch his elbows and kicked out with both feet at Stockdale and Roberts in the centre. Knuckles and Whiner weren't expecting to carry his whole weight between them and Whiner let go, Holmes falling heavily against Knuckles's right leg and foot.

Taking advantage of the sudden change in height, Holmes launched himself against Knuckles and knocked him off balance, who let go of the detective's left elbow to catch himself. But Holmes had lost the advantage of being on his feet, and the other three now closed in, fists and feet hammering his body. He shielded his head with his arms for a moment in case they'd forgotten, then reached out for Stockdale's leg and pulled himself close enough to bite down hard on the leader's ankle, the gag no obstacle to such a large mouthful! Stockdale kicked out with a strangled yell of pain, splitting Holmes's lip and forcing him to let go, head swimming.

"Bleedin' _Christ_!" Stockdale snarled, clutching his leg. "Stretch 'im out, 'old 'im down! He don' need 'is 'ands in one piece to talk!"

Holmes struggled desperately, but he was helpless with the weight of three grown men kneeling on his back and limbs. He set his teeth as Stockdale raised a hobnailed boot, praying he'd lose consciousness quickly...

_**BANG!**_

"_Boss!_" A fifth gang member had been posted as lookout in the next room, calling urgently. "Boss, look wot's goin' on over the street!"

But the pack of thugs didn't need telling, gaping at the spectacle before their eyes: purple _smoke_ was billowing out of the 221B sitting room window, the constables on duty dashing inside, whistles blowing. As the four stared out of their window, transfixed, the door behind them flew open, and Inspectors Lestrade and Patterson burst in with a team of constables, quickly fanning out.

"Everyone stay right where you are!" Lestrade barked, levelling his pistol at Stockdale. "Barney Stockdale, I arrest you and your accomplices in the Queen's name!"

Though still dazed from the kick to his head, Holmes had started along with everyone else, and was now staring at the pair who had just entered the room behind the constables, unsure whether to be elated or horrified. _What_ were Beth and Watson doing _here_, and in the past? Then again... he couldn't remember any explosions at 221B on Friday while he'd been in bed...

Beth stared in horror at her injured husband on the floor, even more bloodied and bruised than before.

Stockdale started to make a move for Holmes, but was pulled up short by Lestrade. "Don't try it, Stockdale!" Lestrade shouted, colder and more menacing, promising hell to pay. "Hands above your head, _now!_"

Stockdale sullenly complied, and the police hurried forward to cuff the men, the inspectors keeping their guns raised.

Beth lowered her gun and ran to her husband. "Sherlock!" She quickly tore off the sickeningly dirty cloth gagging him, praying there would be no infection.

"Beth!" Holmes's voice was hoarse, barely able to look his wife in the face for shame.

Watson had come forward with Beth, cutting the last of Holmes's ropes with his penknife and raising him gently to a sitting position. "Holmes, did they hurt you?"

"Just a few more bruises..." Holmes muttered, then his eyes widened as he remembered. "Beth," he whispered hurriedly, "Stockdale took the device! Left coat pocket..."

Beth nodded, eyes wide, and sprang up, striding over to the prisoners. "Inspectors, excuse me a moment, please…" Shocking everyone—_good_—she plunged her hand into Stockdale's pocket and whipped the Vortex Manipulator out and into her own pocket. He glared at her, and she glared pure murder back. "_Mine_."

Lestrade and Patterson watched with raised eyebrows, neither quite catching what Mrs. Holmes had taken, but neither inclined to press the issue right now. Lestrade especially—the girl was reminding him too much of his own wife's rarely-seen fury for comfort.

Beth hurried back to her husband, rage melting back into anxiety. "John? How is he?"

"More embarrassed than hurt, I do believe," Watson said cheerfully as he finished checking Holmes over. "He'll live." Which was more than could be said for the detective if he _ever_ put his friends through anything like this in future...

Beth closed her eyes for a moment in relief. "Thank God." She looked Sherlock in the eye and said, "Don't ever do that to me again." She bent down and kissed him gently, mindful of his bleeding lip.

Holmes kissed her back, closing his eyes as the tears threatened to well up. "I promise." He'd frightened her so badly, and all for nothing...

Watson carefully helped Holmes to his feet, Beth tucking herself under his other arm; the detective's pride wouldn't have stood being carried out in front of the Stockdale gang! "Come on, old man, let's get you home."

Holmes nodded emphatically, glad of the support – he wasn't sure he could have made it downstairs otherwise. "Just for the record..." he murmured wearily as they left the room, "what day is it?"

* * *

Beth let them into 221B and stopped short in the foyer. "Mycroft! He's okay."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at the slang— "Good"— then paled as Watson bore Sherlock inside, aghast. He had rarely seen his little brother like this… He approached Sherlock, murmuring, "Oh, my dear boy…"

"Mycroft..." Holmes hugged his brother, a lump in his throat; now he knew who had made that chemical diversion.

Mycroft wrapped his arms around Sherlock, gently holding him close—he had almost lost him _again_… "Sherlock... _mon pauvre petit frère_...:"

Holmes stiffened as Mycroft's French reminded him. "Tomorrow night!" he blurted out, startling Mycroft.

"Good heavens, Sherlock!"

"Oh, thank God, they meant _Monday_, not Saturday!" There might just still be time...

"What about tomorrow night?" Sally frowned, coming up the hall with Kathy and Kitty. Thank God, Sherlock had been found, and not much the worse for wear by the looks of it.

"The gang, they were talking about the Baron: he's sailing tomorrow night! I still thought it was Friday when they said it, so I didn't think we had time to stop him."

Beth sighed, massaging her temples tiredly. "Well, sh—oot."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow again, but he could hardly be offended at his sister-in-law's language when she had all but charged into a den of thieves just now to rescue his brother. After a moment, he turned back to Sherlock, heart heavy. "Sherlock, I could put someone else on this case. Your window of opportunity has just dramatically decreased…" He gave his brother a speaking look, eyes tracking to everyone else in the hall: Sherlock was injured, Beth was hurt, and everyone looked exhausted.

Holmes's gaze followed his brother's, and realised with a sinking feeling that Mycroft was right. He might have had the right to burn himself out on a case in the past, but he wouldn't get to be selfish this time, there were too many other players in the game to consider – and most of them were in poor shape to take on Mészáros again so soon. He sighed heavily, shoulders drooping, opening his mouth...

Watson beat him to it, voice quiet but steely: "Holmes, don't you dare." Not after everything they'd been through.

Beth came forward and slipped her hand into Sherlock's, squeezing it gently, letting her eyes speak for her when her throat seemed to have suddenly locked up. She wasn't giving up on this case—she _couldn't_.

"Not on your life!" Sally exclaimed. "...sorry. But seriously, Sherlock, this case got personal for all of us a long while back."

"_Vraiment_," Kitty nodded. "We are with you, _monsieur_." She tossed her head scornfully. "Eduárd has no one – not even Adelaide, now!"

Holmes blinked. "What?"

Beth grimaced. "I… I wouldn't be so optimistic about that just yet." She sighed. "Let's go into the kitchen, everybody—we can talk in there."

* * *

Mycroft stepped outside for a moment to confer with Lestrade, the Inspector reluctantly agreeing to recall his men. With the arrest of all but one or two members of the Stockdale gang, there seemed little point in posting any more guards; Mészáros would now be far more concerned about _evading_ the law than preserving his reputation. And if Mycroft was any judge, the last thing Sherlock et al needed was inconvenient witnesses to any comings and goings in the next few hours...

Mrs. Hudson came over and gave Holmes and Beth a fierce hug when they entered the kitchen, only refraining from clipping the detective around the ear as well because of the head bandage. "So help me, Mr. Holmes," she said severely, "if you give your good wife another heart attack like that one, or any of us...! Whizzing around time and space with a cracked head, indeed!"

Sally had to cough to hide a snort as Sherlock lowered his head contritely. Mrs. Hudson's scolding sounded so completely _prosaic_, as if he'd just gone for a stroll around the block without a coat!

Biting back her giggles, Beth sat Sherlock down in a chair and pulled the closest one over to him, waiting for everyone else to come in. "Okay, so. Adelaide sent me a telegram this morning, telling me that the Baron was leaving for the States. I went back over there and had a talk with her about it, and in the process, I kind of... witnessed firsthand the effect of Mészáros hypnotizing her. I tried to help her break it, but instead…" She flushed guiltily, looking down. "Instead, she went catatonic. It was the General who pulled her out of it, eventually. He declared that the wedding was off and he would be having a talk with Adelaide about it later, but…" She winced, remembering how powerful Adelaide's affection for the Baron had been—would this one act actually be enough to break that? "Even after that, I... don't feel so hopeful."

Holmes frowned as he listened. "You think she _still_ won't believe that he meant her any harm?" He was about ready to leave the damn fool girl to whatever fate she preferred, at this rate!

"I don't know, that's just it! I didn't have the chance to talk with her before I left—I have _no idea_ what she's thinking or feeling right now! Maybe she can justify it in her head, but I can't say either way for certain! And we've run out of time—we can't wait for me to go back and find out what she's thinking." She couldn't say the rest of what _she_ was thinking: why would John add the visit to the Baron's home at the end if it had never happened? If somehow 'Violet' had been convinced of his true character beforehand?

"Well, then..." Kitty said slowly, "we must make sure that she knows what _Eduárd_ truly thinks." She turned to Holmes. "_Monsieur_, please say you still have Beth's phone."

Holmes reddened, reaching into his inside coat pocket and handing the phone back to Beth.

Beth felt sheepish herself as she took it back, glancing at Mycroft, who looked intrigued. "What are you thinking, Kitty?"

"Well, for a start," Sally said pointedly, "don't you have messages to send?"

Beth's eyes widened. "_Oh my gosh_, I can't believe I forgot, thank you!" She hurriedly typed out the first text, wondering _how_ she was going to send it, then noticed something she hadn't before. "Ohhh." The Doctor had added a function to specify the time of arrival for the text, which then gave Beth a warning message when she went to send it: _This feature is potentially temporally-dangerous and should be used only in emergencies_. She sent the first text and then the second one. "Okay, that's done."

Watson noticed Holmes staring. "That's how we knew you hadn't made it to the past, old chap—Sally received two texts yesterday, sent from Beth _today_, letting us know that Mycroft was coming and warning us not to try to contact you."

"That, and no one could remember seeing you, not even Beth. And then Mycroft helped us work out _where_ you must have disappeared to." Sally came over and hugged Sherlock. "You big idiot... Why didn't you tell John and I you'd gone and bought Camden House for us? That was _so_ sweet of you!" She knew perfectly well that Sherlock didn't really want their family to move out, even if the six of them were perpetually banging elbows. Buying that house so she and John could have their _own space_, even if it was right across the street, was an amazingly selfless gesture on Sherlock's part, but it had to have been an awful wrench.

Holmes blushed deeper, stammering a vague excuse about not wanting to spoil the surprise before the house was ready. No need to deduce who had let the cat out of the bag, though – Mycroft was bestowing an utterly unrepentant smile on his younger brother.

Smiling faintly, Beth turned back to Kitty. "I think you were having an idea, though. What was it?"

"You and Monsieur Holmes both had the right idea, I think: record Eduárd's cruelties. This time, however, the evidence we need will have to come right from the vampire's mouth."

Holmes's eyes narrowed, a horrible suspicion growing. "How?"

Kitty took a deep breath. "I will go to his house tonight –" nodding at the phone, "with that. Unless he thinks to search me for such a device, he will never know. And why should he think of doing so when he has never seen one?"

"I do believe you all have gone mad," Mrs. Hudson muttered, shaking her head.

Beth's first impulse was to protest _no, you can't, he'll kill you!_ "But, Kitty, how would you manage that? And get out of it? That would be _incredibly_ dangerous!"

Kitty nodded gravely, then smiled mysteriously. "Well, getting _in_ will be no trouble, at least." She turned to Mycroft. "The parcel on the sideboard, _monsieur_? Excuse me a moment."

"Mycroft?" Holmes said suspiciously as Kitty dashed out of the room – he'd seen _that_ enigmatic smile many times.

Kitty returned after a minute with Mycroft's package from the sitting room. "You never wondered, did you, _mes amies_, just _why_ Monsieur Holmes's brother chose to come here today..." The others had all so blindly trusted that he would come, but done nothing to ensure it! She set the box on the table and removed the lid. Inside was a mysterious shape wrapped in Oriental silk. "It was because _I _wrote and asked him." She carefully unwrapped the silk, revealing a delicate little dark blue saucer. "Ohhh, _monsieur_! Is that...?"

Mycroft nodded, smiling in appreciation himself. "The real eggshell porcelain of the Ming dynasty, _mam'zelle_, as per your instructions. No finer piece ever passed through Christie's. A complete set would be worth a king's ransom—in fact, it is doubtful if there is a complete set outside the imperial palace of Peking." It had been an incalculable honour simply to have held the piece himself.

Beth exchanged a startled glance with Sally. "Wooooow."

"So, let me get this straight," Sally frowned. "Kitty, your plan is to... do your thing and use the china as your ticket in?"

"Well, can any of you disguise yourselves as well as me?" Kitty smiled apologetically to Holmes. "No offence, _monsieur_."

"None taken," Holmes smiled back, concerned gaze drawn back to the saucer. "Mészáros will certainly see you – no true connoisseur could resist the chance to even view such a piece, let alone handle it!"

Watson frowned. "But if the saucer is that valuable—and that well-known—won't the Baron get suspicious about you having it?"

"Of course he will," Kitty replied, with an outward show of calm she was far from feeling. "There won't be much point in recording the meeting if he doesn't..."

* * *

**Ria:** When we were discussing whether to let Kitty have the idea for the visit to Mészáros's house, at first it was going to be due to her finding Beth's Holmes anthology. Then we decided that it was better if she, unlike the rest of the Baker Street Gang, remained unhampered by having prior knowledge of the canon story. Kitty is, after all, quite capable of working out on her own that the events everyone else was expecting to happen weren't visibly being set in motion, and to decide not to take the risk of second guessing!

**Sky:** And poor Sherlock! *hugs him* I know, I know, we're evil—we love torturing him. ...well, not exactly, but it just... seems to keep happening. Btw, did anybody happen to recognize the name of the gang leader?


	16. Pillow Talk

**==Chapter 16==**

**Pillow Talk**

_I wonder if this is how people always get close: They heal each other's wounds; they repair the broken skin.  
_– Lauren Oliver, Pandemonium

John cut short the council of war, noticing Sherlock drooping—to Beth's relief, who had noticed first—and sent him upstairs to rest for an hour or two. Everyone else could continue strategising in his absence. Sherlock didn't even argue.

Mycroft said his goodbyes and good-lucks first, then Beth walked her husband upstairs, taking a detour to get him cleaned up a little in the bathroom first. But finally, she sat him on their bed and closed the bedroom door, sagging against it with a sigh of relief. It felt _so_ nice to get a breather from everything that was going on, just for a little bit!

Holmes reddened and looked down at the carpet, reminded once again of how _very_ tired Beth must be – and all because of him and his stupid stunt! He hadn't achieved _anything_ he'd set out to do so far, and there was still no knowing whether this morning's hard-won data would make any difference...

Beth looked up to find Sherlock looking down and suddenly felt awkward—this was the first time they'd been alone together since Friday night. She took a deep breath, quietly, and returned to the bed to sit beside him, winding their arms around each other. It felt _so good_ to hold him close again, after being apart like that, after the fear that she might never see him again.

Finally, she broke the silence with a question, even though she knew the answer: "You okay?"

Holmes shook his head miserably, blinking as the tears returned. "...I'm sorry..."

"I know," she said softly, and started to stroke his hair. "The important thing is that you're back safe. Here, come on." She gently drew him down to the mattress with her, still reveling in the feeling of him in her arms, she didn't want to let go, not ever again…

He laid his head on her shoulder, breath hitching. "I've been so stupid, Beth..." he whispered. "I let you down so badly!"

She winced, trying to swallow her own tears, trying to hold herself together. "It's okay. Just… _please_ don't do anything like that ever again."

Holmes nodded, wiping his face with his sleeve. "I knew it was insane at the time... I just... couldn't think what else to do. Every time I opened my mouth, I seemed to make things worse..." _"Your _not_ thinking was finally good for something!"_

She bit her lip, starting to tremble against her will. "Leaving didn't make it any better." That moment when he just… hadn't _been_ there anymore, gone with the Vortex Manipulator… and she was left behind… That was going to be hard to forget. She blinked back tears. "I didn't need you to _say_ anything, Sherlock…" _I just needed you to hold me… just _be there_ for me_… She hadn't even had the comfort of a decent cry since the Baron had attacked her, if only to keep herself from drowning when she needed to stay afloat…

"Except, perhaps," Holmes murmured, "the one thing I forgot to say in all of that ranting: that I love you, _cherie_, so very much..." He kissed her cheek, holding her tight. He'd thought he was being so clever, running to Beth's rescue, when he'd actually been running away from the pain he'd caused her. Pressing the rewind button wouldn't have meant any of it hadn't happened, even if Beth hadn't remembered the hurtful words he'd said...

She whimpered and rested her head against his, squeezing her eyes shut, unable to hold back her tears any longer. "I missed you… I missed you _so much_… I was so scared…"

He smoothed her hair, heart breaking with every sob. Thank God she didn't need him to say anything comforting, because right now he couldn't think of a single thing. But they were together again, at least, he could finally be here for her, the way he should have been the whole time.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry for going out alone... I'm sorry for getting involved…" The carriage ride home from the Pembertons' had been very sobering: Mészáros's attack on her, his hypnotising Adelaide, her catatonic reaction... had all come from Beth trying to help. If she'd just stayed on the sidelines, none of it might have happened—and they were still going to invade Mészáros's home anyway.

"Oh, Beth, no... no, no... Dearest, I... it is true that I didn't want you involved in the beginning... I underestimated you as much as the Baron did, it seems. But you did what the rest of us could never have done. You befriended Adelaide, helped her to see through Mészáros's lies – perhaps not so much his true character, but the idea that he was the only one who cared about her, that everyone else was her enemy."

"And I got her hurt in the process. It didn't matter if he underestimated me or not—she got hurt, _you_ got hurt—again…!"

"Sweetheart, you must remember: Mészáros has been hypnotising Adelaide ever since they first met; he even boasted of it to me during the interview! Without you loosening his grip on her mind and heart, we wouldn't have stood a chance." He rubbed her back soothingly. "I'm sure it was horrible to witness, but the poor girl was always going to have go through that ordeal to be free of him."

She gave a despairing, sobbing laugh, her tears still falling. "Why do you have to be _so_ reasonable when I want it the _least_, and _not_ reasonable when I really need it? I mean, you have been miffed at me on and off all week, ever since New Year's Eve—what the zed is so different now?"

"Oh, I don't know," Holmes answered lightly, but unable to keep a bitter note out of his voice. "Perhaps because less than an hour ago, I was fighting for life and limb against the same thugs who pounded me into the cobbles the first time!" His voice became a whisper: "Seeing our home through the window, so _close_... and thinking I'd never see you again, that you'd never even know what had happened... and all because your fool of a husband couldn't conquer his pride enough to _listen_ when it really mattered."

Breath hitching, she tightened her hold on him again. "I was so scared I'd never see you again, either…" She unwound one arm to cup his face in her hand, suddenly needing that touch. "Because I'd gone outside alone, because I didn't talk to you in the morning…" Her eyes watered again. "But… Sherlock… _it hurt_…" She gave another sobbing laugh, wishing she could get a hold of herself. "The irony is that I told Sally that I didn't want to tell you what happened with Mészáros because I didn't want to see you get angry, even if it was at Mészáros and not me... and then I got you angry at me anyway." Her hand around his cheek was shaking and she couldn't stop it. "I _know_ I don't think, Sherlock," she whispered, "a lot—I don't need you to tell me that... and you _hadn't_ told me anything like that since... since we've been married." When he'd been far less concerned with her feelings.

He nodded, shamefaced. "And I imagine the way I said it... must have made you feel as if I thought you deserved what happened." How _could_ he have said something so horrible, letting fly at Beth just because she'd been there in the room and the Baron hadn't?

She sighed shakily. "No... no, I didn't. I was a bit stuck on the part where you thought I was stupid…" Looking anywhere but at him, she murmured, "Especially when I was positive you wouldn't have handled it any differently."

Holmes's blush deepened. "I did phrase that very badly, didn't I? I don't think you're stupid, Beth, truly." Grinning wryly, "Impetuous and impulsive, yes – not unlike a certain detective you happen to be married to..." he added sheepishly, tightening his arms around her. "I never should have spoken to you like that! I'm so sorry."

Something inside her finally unknotted itself. She stroked his face with her fingertips, her heart in her eyes. "I forgive you," she murmured, and kissed him softly.

Thrilling at her touch, he returned the kiss tenderly, then realised his hands were starting to roam her back and stopped, chiding himself sternly. This really wasn't the time, Beth couldn't be ready for more yet!

She arched a little beneath his hands, a delicious shiver running down her spine—it felt like the past week had lasted _forever_ and she'd missed his touch. She nuzzled his cheek a little, murmuring, "Oh, kitty—" then broke off with a wince, blushing furiously.

Of _course_, so stupid of him not to have thought... "It's all right, _cherie_." He kissed her hair. "I don't mind." Some things just couldn't be helped.

Beth shook her head. "Sherlock, do you know where Kitty's name came from?"

Holmes blinked. "No... I must admit I've never thought to ask." Wasn't it short for Katherine?

Beth bit her lip, hating that she had to say this. "...honey, Kitty doesn't have a given name, not one that she remembers. And... Mészáros called her _chaton_."

"...Oh." Not such an amusing coincidence, then.

"Yeah. She ended up kind of running with it…" _I am _not_ going to bring up Johnson now._ She sighed ruefully. "Why do bad guys have to ruin everything?"

"Mm." He nuzzled her in sympathy. "I'm sorry, love. I know you liked that name, and... well..." His cheeks were turning pink again. "You haven't me called me that in a while, and, to tell the truth, I... I've rather missed it."

She couldn't help smiling, melting inside. "D'awww…" She started stroking his hair again. "Big softie." She nuzzled him again and murmured, "Kitty." Her smile faded as she remembered _other_ names Mészáros had used… "Actually, that reminds me… In the event that you ever try to learn Spanish? Endearments _mi querida_ and _mi tesoro_ are off the table."

"Oh, Beth..." Holmes could hear clearly what she wasn't saying. He stroked her hair, steeling himself as his gut began to churn. "Dearest, I know I let you down that night... but if you feel up to telling me..." He needed to hear it as much as Beth needed to tell it, no matter how painful.

She bit her lip again, looked down, and scooted down to tuck her head in the hollow of Sherlock's shoulder. "Well, there's one thing you should know, for sure: we have to hope that Mészáros doesn't have any strands of hair of ours or anything like that…" She shuddered, remembering the unforgiving pressure around her body… the long moment when she couldn't _breathe_… "Because, almost as soon as I'd gotten outside, I couldn't move—" her voice dropped to a whisper— "not unless he _made_ me…"

* * *

"Apparently he didn't want to fight off several people at the same time, at least not while injured. So…" Beth shivered—she'd seen a lot of crazy stuff by now, but _this_… "He dissolved into mist, and floated off—though it didn't look like it was very easy for him to do at that point. And then Will and Paul showed up, and the rest you know."

Holmes had kept silent with great difficulty, feeling sick with combined horror and fury. To make matters worse, he couldn't be sure that Mészáros _didn't_ have anything of his – it would have been so easy for Stockdale's gang to obtain some of his hair after the first attack! Oh God, and Stockdale still had his _wedding ring_... He could only hope Lestrade had retrieved it while the gang was being searched for the cells.

Feeling the need to fill the silence, Beth kept talking. "You know… almost the worst part was that… that I was tempted, for a moment... I mean, the idea that you could heal quickly from all this, and that you'd be less likely to get hurt in the first place…" _Oi, babbling! Stop now!_ She snapped her mouth shut and blushed.

Dear God... The very idea made Holmes shudder, especially the thought of having _Mészáros_ for a sire! "Well," he said softly, kissing her forehead, "I'm glad it was only a moment."

She hunched her shoulders in shame. "I know… I'm sorry."

"There's no need, love – you would never have taken such an offer of your own free will, I know that." He tightened his arms around her, wishing he need never let go of her again, they kept coming so close to losing each other...

She hummed softly and nuzzled at his neck, grateful just to be in his arms again, and to have him in hers. "I love you…"

"I love _you_... _ma chère femme_..."

Somehow her fingers had ended up on his neck, stroking it idly as she decided to try something for the first time. "_Mi corazón_." Oh, she liked the way that rolled off her tongue—_think about how amazing it was to speak Spanish with Isadora, and don't think about _him…"_El corazón de mi corazón_."

"Oh, Beth..." Holmes kissed her deeply, hesitation forgotten in the moment, murmuring against her lips, "_Mi dulce sol..._" It had been _far_ too long since he last called her that...

She hummed blissfully as she returned the kiss, running her fingers through his hair —it had been too long since they'd done this.

He gasped softly at her fingers on his scalp, realising suddenly how _very_ intimate this was getting. Reluctantly, he broke the kiss, framing Beth's face with his hands and trying to calm his breathing. "Beth... are you sure, _cherie_? I don't want to hurt you..."

She blushed. "Honestly… I was afraid of hurting _you_… I mean, you _are_ a little banged-up right now."

Holmes shook his head with a warm smile, caressing her back. "Not that much, thank God," he murmured lustfully. He would have said 'yes' just now even with all of his limbs in plaster.

A shiver of pure want ran down her spine, skin flushing, back arching at his touch. "Ah…" She resumed stroking his hair, her own voice turning husky. "In that case, sweetheart... I have been craving you all week, and it's been _torture_…"

Heart pounding at the hunger in her voice, he kissed the corner of her mouth. "Then have me, love..."

* * *

Watson, Sally and Kitty had continued to discuss the evening to come in Holmes and Beth's absence, who eventually reappeared around four o'clock. Mrs. Hudson served everyone a late afternoon tea in the sitting room, including scones baked with extra salt for Kitty.

Kitty gave her a grateful but brittle smile – she was starting to feel decidedly on edge with her growing need for blood. "_Merci, madame_."

Beth noticed Kitty's growing tension, hesitated, then decided to take the plunge. "Kitty, you've been very patient with all of our questions, and... you're very welcome to say it's none of my business, but... I just wonder if maybe animal blood is a viable substitute for human?"

"I wondered when someone would ask that," Kitty answered wryly. "Honestly, I don't know. I have never been able to keep any down long enough to find out." The plasmavore looked faintly ill at the mere thought. "Ironic, _oui_? I cannot even stomach black pudding."

Sally smiled at her in sympathy. "Speaking of blood…"

Beth frowned. "Yes?"

"Well," Kitty began nervously, "as I was telling these two earlier... I have not fed in some time, as you know... and... to change form..." She faltered, hesitant to give voice to the craving that was clawing at her insides; she could never forgive herself if she lost control _now_.

"How long since you last hunted, Kitty?" Holmes asked gently.

Kitty looked up at him with haunted eyes, grateful beyond words for the empathy in his voice. He understood, of course he did. "Wednesday. The salt has been helping, but..." She shrugged helplessly, hands clasped together to keep them from trembling.

Beth hummed thoughtfully. "Kitty... I wonder if... if we drew some blood for you, would that work?"

Sally perked up at the new idea. "You mean like they draw at blood drives? I could do that—I've donated blood before."

"How much _do_ you donate at one of those?" Watson asked. That might just work, he had heard of such things while in 2007. "Not you, Holmes, you've lost enough already."

It had felt like a lot to Sally, although she had been reassured that it wasn't. "I think… it's 500 millilitres?"

"About a pint," Beth put in. She hadn't given blood, but her mom had.

"That... might be a little too much," Holmes frowned, "given what we have planned for the evening." The last thing _any_ of them needed was to grow dizzy or faint at a crucial moment! "Would half a pint from the other three be enough?" he asked an astonished-looking Kitty, who nodded mutely, almost in tears.

Mrs. Hudson had been listening from the doorway and decided to speak up: "Make that two-and-a-half pints in total, thank you, Doctor."

Sally was startled into a laugh. "Mrs. H, we're not ordering the morning milk here!"

"I'm aware of that, dear," the landlady said calmly. "I shall hardly be accompanying any of you to Kingston, so taking things easy for an hour or two won't make a bit of difference, now, will it?"

"Well, that makes two of us, then." Sally smiled ruefully, trying to hide her disappointment. "I don't know _when_ I'm ever going to get the chance, but I think I should probably get in a little more field time like Beth did before going into something this dangerous."

"Probably a good idea, love." Watson squeezed his wife's hand sympathetically, hiding his relief— it couldn't be easy for her to always be left behind like this. "Well, I'd better get things ready." No sense in keeping Kitty malnourished any longer than she had to be.

"Thank you..." Kitty whispered, wiping her eyes.

"In the meantime..." Holmes rose gingerly and seated himself at Watson's desk, unearthing a pen and notepaper. "Kitty, you know the Baron's habits best. Would he be disengaged at about half-past eight?"

"_Certainement_, if he's preparing to leave tomorrow."

"Then this note will tell him in advance that you are about to call." Holmes finished writing, then rummaged in his bedroom dresser and brought out a visiting card.

"'Dr. Hill Barton'?"

"Your name for the evening. You may as well be a medical man, Watson can coach you in the part. I gather from your reaction to the piece Mycroft brought that you already know something of porcelain?"

Kitty nodded emphatically. "Living in the same house as Eduárd's collection, you cannot help but learn."

Beth frowned. "Okay, but what _are_ you going to do once you're in there, Kitty? Show him the piece, obviously, but then what? You said something about recording?—and, okay, heaven knows I basically make up plans myself as I go, but... We've got Point A... so what's Point B?"

"Point B... is when he realises I have no good reason for being there. Most likely, he will think I am an agent of your husband's, and there is always the possibility that he may see through the illusion and recognise me. In either case, his tongue will almost certainly betray him, by threatening me, or perhaps... even attempting to kill me."

"And that's what worries me: getting you out of that situation."

"_Moi aussi_. Which is where you come in, so to speak." Kitty took out of her pocket a rough plan of the house, pointing as she explained. "The outer study, it has French windows, leading onto this terrace... and there is one case of pottery in that room, on the opposite wall. He will most likely see me in there, if only so he can show off some of his collection."

"And you want us to be watching from outside, I gather?" Holmes asked.

"_Exactement_. If you sneak into the grounds while I arrive at the front by carriage, would that be enough of a diversion?"

"I imagine so..." Holmes said slowly, "but what would you have us do once in place?"

"Well, I am hoping you will not need to do very much at all." Kitty bit her lip, making up her mind. "_Mes amies_, there is something I must show you..." She produced from hiding what appeared at first glance to be a tiny, nickel-plated pistol.

Sally frowned. "Is that… is that a water pistol?"

Kitty gave her a tight smile. "Of a sort."

Beth understood instantly. "Holy water? Is that pistol full of _holy water?!_"

Kitty nodded, grinning in spite of her nervousness. "Inspiration courtesy of Eduárd's sire – we can only hope she was speaking the truth! All going well, this should make escaping a little easier..." Sobering, "But if the water does work as Señora Klein described, I fear it will not be easy for any of us to witness."

"No…" Beth had been wondering how the vitriol element would play out, and now she knew. And now that she was faced with the reality of it, she knew Kitty was right—watching it wouldn't be easy. "But he doesn't leave us with a whole lot of choice."

* * *

**Ria:** Yes, water pistols did exist in the 1890s! Parker, Stearns & Sutton even patented a design in 1898 that incorporated the rubber squeeze-bulb into the handle. Besides being a fun toy, the USA Liquid Pistol (go ahead, google it!) was advertised as a deterrent for attackers; you could fill the bulb with water, ammonia or other repellent liquid. We're just moving the date of that design back a couple of years for this universe!


	17. Nothing's Fair In Love

**==Chapter 17=**

**Nothing's Fair in Love**

_you worshipped him like God_

_and followed him like your shepherd,_

_but didn't anyone tell you_

_that he was neither of those things_

_and that you confused your butcher for your shepherd, little lamb_

– Keith M, Amen, Amen, Amen

Mészáros had all but vibrated with impatience all afternoon since the coded telegram had arrived. He'd thought it was a joke at first – Holmes appearing in Camden House out of thin air! —but the news of a strange device strapped to the detective's wrist was too fantastic to be anything but real.

There had been no word since, and the day was waning. He could only surmise that something had gone wrong: Holmes might have escaped somehow, or the gang members been captured, and who knew what information they might leak unwittingly? Stockdale could be trusted well enough, but the Baron knew better than to trust the man's slimy associates.

The prudent course of action would be to cut his losses and leave tonight, but he was not in the habit of making undignified exits, and the ship would not be ready to sail with his cargo until tomorrow. And now a note had arrived:

_Dear Sir,  
As a fellow connoisseur and collector of Chinese porcelain, I wonder if you would be interested in inspecting a particularly fine specimen of Ming china which has come into my possession, with a possible view to purchasing it for your own collection. I shall call upon you this evening at half past eight.  
Kind regards,  
Dr. Hill Barton_

Whatever this supposed doctor's intentions really were, it would be wise for Mészáros to refresh himself beforehand. A little early, perhaps, but needs must. He _was_ beginning to feel rather hungry—his piqued curiosity, no doubt.

He rang the bell, and his butler appeared. "Summon the second footman to the parlour, Ramsay, and I think… yes, I think the under housemaid will do as well." A pretty enough little thing, the girl, who responded quite gratifyingly to his attention.

"Excellent choice, sir. I shall send them in directly."

Mészáros paused before leaving the room. "Oh, and, Ramsay, I'm expecting a caller later this evening. Show them in to the outer study on arrival."

* * *

Mészáros had only started on the maid when the doorbell rang, and his lips peeled away from the girl's wrist in a crimson snarl. The doctor was early, confound the man!

Ramsay entered a minute later, as his master was wiping his lips with a cloth. "The study?" Mészáros asked briskly.

"Yes, sir."

"Very well, I'll see him now." Mészáros nodded to the prone figures on the floor, the girl still so frustratingly enticing… "See to them." Ramsay looked oddly bemused, but didn't argue, and Mészáros had no time to think further on it. He had, in all likelihood, an imposter to unmask.

* * *

Unable to sit still, Adelaide nervously trod the study carpet. A china cabinet opposite the French windows kept catching her eye, the pieces in it were so lovely! Surely... _surely_ a man who found such pleasure in these beautiful, delicate objects couldn't _possibly_... She shivered and hugged herself, looking up again at her pale-faced reflection staring back at her from the glass, almost as if she too were locked inside the case...

"Forgive me, sir," Mészáros began as he opened the door, then halted, staring. "Adelaide! What on earth are you doing here?" And so late, _and_ unaccompanied? This wasn't like her at all!

Adelaide turned and shrank involuntarily for a moment at the sound of his voice (_it's all right, kincsem… trust me_) but made herself straighten again. _You're startling like a child; don't be so silly!_ Nevertheless, she was very glad of the pin she had sewn into the cuff of her blouse, the sharp point resting against her skin. If another headache came on, she could prick herself to clear the fog in her head.

But she moved towards him, smiling tremulously, holding out her hands to him. "Oh, Eduárd darling, please don't scold me! I _had_ to come, you can't think how anxious I've been!"

Mészáros came forward to take her hands in his, taking care to move noticeably slower and stiffer than his scorched torso actually demanded. "Ah, _kinscem_, you must excuse my manner just now: I was expecting a different caller." He kissed her cheek, nostrils flaring unseen at the tantalising scent of her, so near... "Are you quite well, _drágám_? You still look so pale!"

She flushed faintly, unsure of how to answer. "I must confess, I... haven't been sleeping well lately. But, dearest, whatever are you doing out of bed in your condition? I have a very good mind to give _you_ a scold!"

He chuckled lightly, trying to ignore the delectable rush of colour in Adelaide's cheeks— if only there had been time for him to finish the maid. "As I said, I was expecting a different caller—a fellow collector of china. His note said that he would come this evening."

Adelaide faltered. "Oh." She shook her head at herself. "Forgive me, Eduárd, I should have thought to send word myself. Would I be very much in the way?"

"Not at all—in fact, I think you would find it most educational—but Adelaide, tell me truthfully, does your father know you are here?" The last thing he needed was any spy of Holmes's bearing tales of clandestine assignations with his fiancée to General Pemberton!

Blushing fiercely, she looked down, not looking forward to a scolding, especially now. "Well, I… didn't precisely inform him of my intentions, though I imagine my maid has by now…"

Mészáros sighed. "_Kincsem_, whatever were you thinking? That is hardly the way to go about strengthening the General's goodwill towards me."

Adelaide shook her head—Eduárd had further to go in that regard than he thought, and no one to blame for it but himself! Gathering her nerve, she drew a trembling breath. "Eduárd... that is the very reason I came here. I must speak with you... on an extremely delicate matter."

Mészáros knitted his brows, Adelaide's audibly racing pulse as eloquent as her face. "I see." He drew her over to the settee. "What is it you wish to speak of, _drágám_?" Had the General suddenly found enough backbone to withdraw his consent once again?

Adelaide kept her gaze firmly on their joined hands, not daring to look him in the face yet. He would not like this… "Forgive me, love… but the thought has lately occurred to me—and God knows how I have wished it hadn't!—that you may not have been… entirely honest with me about the nature of your relationship with Kitty Winter." It was a shock to realise that she had managed to say all of that without any difficulty aside from the natural embarrassment—no fog, no headache… She hurried on as his expression turned slowly from surprised to solemn, stroking his hands soothingly. "Pray don't misunderstand me, dearest—I have seen for myself how beautiful Kitty is… and, unlike the women you've already admitted having taken to your bed, I can understand that her association with Mr. Holmes must have seemed far more of a threat to our union. But there has never been any need for you to deceive me, Eduárd… or… or use any other means to prevent my doubting your devotion to me. My only fear… is that I have given you enough cause to doubt mine to you, to think that I would care about one more liaison than you saw fit to confess in the moment."

She hesitantly raised her eyes to Eduárd's face, though still not quite meeting his eyes. How very red his lips were tonight in the lamplight… and… one tiny smear of scarlet, just below his moustache. Bracing herself, she made herself look up further, finally meeting his troubled gaze. "Please, dearest, I beg you to trust me. _Have_ you and Kitty ever been lovers?"

"Adelaide..." Mészáros said in a hurt voice. "How could you ask me such a thing?" _Damn, damn, __**damn**__..._ He should have ripped that wretched hoyden Elizabeth's throat out when he had the chance! He let go of Adelaide's hands, rose and turned away slightly, eyes downcast. "Is your faith in me not strong enough to trust me completely?" He cast a quick, reproachful glance back up at her. "No, it is not, is it? I had never thought to doubt your devotion, my love—not you. Not until now. Will you cast me aside, then? Do you wish to break off our engagement?"

Adelaide had gone whiter still, her heart stuttering, eyes brimming with tears. "Oh _no_, Eduárd, never!" She rose from the settee, trying to recapture his hands—she had to make him understand! "Do you not know how I love you? And never because I thought you perfect, dearest, but because you trusted me enough to show me that you were not!" She took a deep breath—it hadn't escaped her notice that he hadn't outright denied having an affair with Kitty.** "**If... if there is more to your past than you feel able to share, even with me, I will gladly wait until you can. All I ask is that you simply tell me so—not... not attempt to deceive me... by confusing my thoughts. I _know_, you see. I know what you did in the library that night. And I don't hate you for it, indeed I don't! You feared to lose me, I see that now. If fear drove you to such a desperate act, my darling, then let me free you from it! Let me tell you that if you had bedded a hundred women before you met me, it would not matter, because the pain in your eyes... it tells me how deeply you love me, and only me. I care nothing for being the first woman in your life, _kincsem_... as long as I am the last."

Mészáros stood silent for a long moment, thoughts racing. He _must_ tread warily here, if all was not to be lost. As much as it galled him to play the repentant sinner, his hold over his fiancée's mind had been shaken badly, thanks to Elizabeth's meddling. It might even be lost entirely if he didn't play his last remaining card with care. Finally, not meeting Adelaide's gaze, he answered quietly, "Then I believe... I believe I do owe you an apology, _drágám_. A thousand apologies. I do love you, dearly—you cannot know how much." He looked up at her at last, eyes shining. "_Kincsem_, you truly are the treasure above all treasures."

She blushed, smiling, trying to ignore the pang at his confession to having wronged her, and the Baroness… If she couldn't forgive him for it, what right did she have to his forgiveness for consorting with the Holmeses? She cradled his cheek in her hand, murmuring, "As you are to me, my love," and kissed him.

Mészáros growled softly as, with the worst possible timing, the doorbell rang. "Forgive me, _drágám_," he sighed, stroking Adelaide's hair, "but that would be my caller."

Adelaide sighed deeply, glancing at the clock on the mantel. "And I suppose… I should return home sooner rather than later. Papa must be dreadfully anxious." She wouldn't tell Eduárd just now about her father withdrawing his consent, not when she still had six weeks to change his mind.

"Yes, indeed. Go and speak with your father. Do you have a cab waiting?"

"Yes." She bit her lip. "I… I don't know if I shall be able to see you again, dearest, before you go. Papa wishes me to accompany him to Brighton for a fortnight, he thinks the sea air will do us both good." Of course, Papa wanted to get her away from any hint of Eduárd's influence, but she wasn't about to tell _him_ that.

"Ah." Come to think of it, Adelaide hadn't mentioned whether the General knew of what he had done... But no matter, Pemberton could hardly act against him before he was out of reach, and Adelaide at least had the wit to follow any written instructions he might send her. "Don't worry, _kinscem_—I shall return before you know it, in the twinkling of an eye. Go to Brighton, then; and may you be in full health and good spirits when we meet again." Knowing how much she wanted another kiss on the lips, he kissed her brow instead.

She closed her eyes, heart aching. "Oh, Eduárd... how I shall miss you!" Blinking back tears, she kissed his cheek. "Godspeed, my darling," she murmured, and forced herself to turn away and leave the room.

Mészáros watched Adelaide walk out, only letting his shoulders sag once she was out of sight. She was still his, he hadn't lost her, despite all of Elizabeth's meddling!

Ramsay entered a moment later, bearing a tray with the new caller's card: Doctor Hill Barton. At last... and luckily, the Baron was in the perfect frame of mind just now for combining business with pleasure. "Show him in."

* * *

On her way out, Adelaide came face-to-face with Eduárd's gentleman caller: a shortish, greying man with a neat moustache, a receding hairline, and a kind, open face. The man's eyes widened on seeing Adelaide, giving her the oddest look, almost as if he recognised her... then finally collected himself enough to bow as he passed.

"Good evening, miss."

Adelaide returned the bow, responding coolly, "Good evening, sir." Curious, she glanced back over her shoulder, and saw the man _shake_ himself... as if recovering from a strong shock. Strange... and why did she have the sudden, strong feeling that she _did_ know him from somewhere?

* * *

_(Scene rating: V, L)_

"Dr. Hill Barton, sir."

'Doctor Barton' entered behind Ramsay, carrying the saucer box carefully, and bowed. "Good evening, sir. Have I the honour of meeting Baron Mészáros?" Kitty hoped she sounded more collected than she felt. Seeing Adelaide leaving the house had given her a nasty shock, barely managing to pull herself together enough to greet the woman appropriately. At least Adelaide _was_ leaving, though, and seemingly none the worse for wear! Kitty's sensitive ears pricked at the slight sound of a key turning behind her – the butler locking the study door from the outside... _Deep breath, petite, no turning back now! _Beth's phone was already recording every sound in the room, tucked discreetly into Kitty's left overcoat pocket, mercifully the same shape as an ordinary cigarette case. And in the other pocket… She just needed to be careful not to let her hand hover over it!

"You do, sir," Mészáros nodded in return. Who could this nondescript little man be? An associate of Holmes's, almost certainly. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Dr. Barton. Please, do sit down." He gestured at the chair before his desk.

"Thank you." Kitty sat, placing the box on the desk. "I appreciate your taking the time to see me, sir. Like myself, you must be a very busy man."

"I daresay—" the Baron's tone was bone-dry— "but your note intrigued me." He sat stiffly at his desk—better to let his visitor think him injured—and nodded at the box. "Is this the china of which you wrote?"

"It is indeed." Kitty reverently unpacked the saucer and handed it over.

Mészáros unexpectedly had to stop his hands from trembling as he received the delicate little piece, marveling at its perfection. "_Istenem._ Very fine. Very fine, indeed! Do you have a set to correspond?"

Kitty nodded, trying not to tremble herself, or stare too hard at her former lover's face, the man who had _murdered_ her truest friend... "This is but one of six. May I say, sir, what I can see of your own collection is exquisite. Tell me, is that a Tang vase there on the upper left?"

"It certainly is." Mészáros stood and motioned for the other man to follow him, not unwilling to show off his treasures even to a suspicious individual. "Come, you may have a closer look if you like—I am sure you never saw finer workmanship or a richer glaze."

Kitty followed, trying to look pleased and awed. "Never. My word, that must have cost you a pretty penny!"

"Indeed it did. Before your arrival, I had been looking over my treasures and wondering whether I could really afford to add to them. And you say you have five more to match that lovely little piece." Mészáros nodded at the saucer. "What puzzles me is that I should not have heard of such magnificent specimens. I only know of one in England to match it, and it is certainly not likely to be in the market." And surely he would have heard if any other such set had found its way into a private collection. "Would it be indiscreet if I were to ask you, Dr. Barton, how you obtained it?"

"Does it really matter?" Kitty answered carelessly. "You can see that the piece is genuine, and, as to the price, I am content to take the valuation of an expert such as yourself." _Bon Dieu_, paying _him_ that compliment was like acid in her mouth!

"Very mysterious." His eyes narrowed. "In dealing with objects of such value, one naturally wishes to know all about the transaction. That the piece is genuine is certain. I have no doubts at all about that. But suppose—I am bound to take every possibility into account—that it should prove afterwards that you had no right to sell?"

"I would guarantee you against any claim of the sort." Kitty's creased brow was only half acting now, Eduárd's expression all too familiar, the one he wore when he knew someone was lying... "Forgive me... I was of the impression that such considerations were of little importance to a true collector."

Mészáros arched an eyebrow. "Indeed? You are a collector yourself, Doctor, are you not?" He moved closer to the other man. "Your note said so." Now he was so close that anyone would feel uncomfortable, man or woman, almost touching. "Are such considerations of little importance to you?" he murmured, his tone and gaze on the edge of hypnotic influence.

Kitty fought the strong urge to step backwards as Eduárd advanced, managing to answer airily, "Oh, well... I imagine any man might steel himself to lay certain scruples aside under the right circumstances... and for the right piece, _naturellement_." Her stomach lurched at the slip back into French, cursing inwardly. She hadn't meant to make it _that_ easy for him!

The Baron's eyes glittered. "_Oui_, the right circumstances... _Chaton_." He grabbed the 'man's wrist, purposefully inhaling the other person's scent: ah yes, beneath the mixed scents of whomever she'd fed on recently—he thought he caught a whiff of Elizabeth's blood—he recognised the plasmavore's own scent now, as tantalising as it had ever been.

Shocked into crying out in her normal voice, Kitty let her form revert back to her old self inside Dr. Watson's suit, struggling to wrench her arm out of Eduárd's grip.

He chuckled darkly as he began to twist her arm. "Whatever is the matter, _Chaton_? Surely you were not expecting to get away with whatever it is you are doing here. Spying on behalf of your would-be lover?" Surely that was why she agreed to help Holmes in the first place—Elizabeth had certainly seen more between her husband and 'Kitty Winter' than either would admit.

Kitty spat in his face. "Making love to the dead is _your_ style, _mon paramour_," she hissed, "not mine!" Not anymore... His iron grip on her wrist was revoltingly cold and dry, the memory of how eagerly she had once sought his caresses making her want to retch.

He frowned for a moment, brushing the spittle off his face. "Ahhh, you speak of your escort the night you decided to intervene in my affairs." All the better, then, that he had done what he had with the man… "Foolish of you, _drágám_—you forced my hand." He twisted her arm a little further, her struggles almost too distracting, he had nearly forgotten how enchanting she could be… He pulled her closer to him and purred, "And yet, it did grant me the pleasure of seeing you again, _mon petit chaton_."

She gasped in pain as his grip tightened further, unable to reach the water pistol, too far over on the wrong side. "The only pleasure... left to me... is to see you in your grave, _bâtard_!" In her desperation, Kitty tried something she'd never attempted before: grew her teeth longer and sharper and sank them into the hand on her wrist.

Mészáros swore, flinging her to the floor. He clutched at his bloody hand, eyes blazing. "Very clever, _Kitty_," he growled, his own teeth and claws lengthening to deal with the little vixen. "Allow me to return the gesture. Perhaps I should kill you and bring you back—you never did like that idea, did you?"

Kitty laughed scornfully, trying not to gag at the taste of his half-dead flesh in her mouth. "You suddenly think that works on my kind, after all I told you?" Free at last, her hand inched towards her pocket. "Or is that a risk you're prepared to take?" As Eduárd tensed and lunged towards her, she plunged her hand in...

* * *

_(Scene rating: V, L)_

The footman had escorted Adelaide out, and handed her up into the waiting cab. "Thank you. Back to the train station, please." It was only once the carriage was out of sight of the house that it suddenly dawned on Adelaide what else had been strange about the new caller's expression: _fear_. Impulsively, she banged on the roof, scrambling down the moment the cab stopped. "I've changed my mind, driver, you can go on!"

Luckily, there was enough light from the windows to allow Adelaide to make her way around the house through the garden, heading for the terrace. She simply _had_ to know who her fiancé's visitor was, and why he'd been so afraid at seeing _her_ there! Besides, it would be nice to see Eduárd one last time before he left...

Adelaide slowed as she reached the terrace, careful not to let the light from the French windows fall on her fully. There was Eduárd, standing by the china cabinet, and now moving towards the grey-haired man, who looked even more nervous than he had in the passage. Then... Eduárd's hand shot out and grabbed the man's wrist... and a high-pitched cry of alarm from the man's throat was followed by his face and form _blurring_... into that of Kitty Winter! Stunned as Adelaide was, she could see that Eduárd was twisting Kitty's arm viciously, he was _hurting her_, and his dark chuckle made Adelaide's flesh crawl... Kitty was struggling desperately to be free... and... Adelaide gasped: Kitty's teeth had just grown _longer_, like something out of a childhood nightmare, before biting Eduárd savagely on the hand! Eduárd snarled and flung Kitty to the floor, his eyes blazing hellfire.

Dear God, what should she do?! Stay back, or go in and intervene before they killed each other? No, the servants! She should alert them, send for the police! Adelaide turned to run for the front door, and her heart almost stopped when she collided with someone at the edge of the terrace: Elizabeth Holmes!

"Beth! Oh, thank God!" she choked out in a whisper. "You have to help me, _please_, they've gone mad!" Adelaide glanced back over her shoulder, but the pair were out of sight from here.

Adelaide's unexpected appearance had shot Beth's pulse skyward, her thoughts reduced to one profanity over and over. She grasped the other girl by the shoulders, trying to stay calm but unable to keep the panicked edge out of her voice. "Adelaide, listen, please: you need to _stay here_, okay?"

"But..." Adelaide frowned as it suddenly dawned on her: why _was_ Beth even here?

Holmes and Watson came out of the shadows next, Holmes trying not to lean too hard on the doctor's arm – he'd thought he was ready for this! "No, Beth," he said heavily, "let her see." If Adelaide was out here too, then she had made the choice to discover the truth for herself; she was as ready to know as she would ever be. "Adelaide... I'm so sorry."

Adelaide could only stare at the battered and bandaged detective, mind in a whirl... then a shriek of fear pierced the air, followed a moment later by a horrible scream of pain – in a male voice! "_Eduárd!_"Forgetting everything else in her fright, Adelaide rushed back to the windows and burst into the room.

Beth, Sherlock and John hurried after Adelaide, to be confronted with the very sight they had been bracing for: Eduárd Mészáros was writhing on the floor, screaming in agony, clutching at his face and neck. Smoke or steam rose in wisps from between his clawed fingers, and what could be seen of the affected flesh looked charred and raw.

Kitty scrambled back away from him towards the windows, still clutching her water pistol, wanting to be sick. She had seen many horrors in her long life and she had even caused some of them, but none of them had ever been quite like _this_.

Adelaide stood frozen, white to the lips, too numb with horror even to scream. Those fangs... those terrible _claws_...

Suddenly there was pounding and jostling and indistinct shouts at the study door, and Beth paled further. "Oh my gosh, the servants!"

Holmes rushed across the room and shot the bolt home before the door could be unlocked from outside, then came back, voice low and urgent, pointing to the inner study: "Beth, take Adelaide in there! Watson, cuff the Baron – and for God's sake, don't let him speak!" He hurried over to the French windows next, locked them, and drew the curtains tightly. Turning to Kitty, he took the pistol from her and put a steadying hand on her shoulder. "Kitty, can you hold one more shape for half a minute?"

Kitty swallowed hard as she realised which shape she meant. She would almost rather die, though that was hardly fair to her companions. She nodded hesitantly, closed her eyes, and concentrated hard on the features she'd once known so well…

Beth took Adelaide by the shoulders. "Come on, honey!" The other girl seemed not to have heard her, still staring at her fiancé.

And Mészáros had not stopped shrieking in pain. "_You will all pay_—_!_"

"Not another word, Baron," Watson hissed from where he knelt on the vampire's back, gripping his wrists. "There's more water where that came from." An enraged growl was the only sign of Mészáros's concession, and Watson hastened to finish cuffing the Baron's hands behind him, while Holmes kept the pistol trained on the prisoner's head, praying he didn't have to use it – the vampire's first reaction had been gut-wrenching enough! The detective risked a glance back over his shoulder as the study door began to shake with blows: thank God, Kitty had just finished her change, her new features an exact match for Mészáros's, if a little sweaty.

Kitty squared her shoulders, walked to the door, and took a deep breath, praying that she'd get the voice right, and that Ramsay wouldn't notice that his 'master' had changed clothes! "_That will do_." Sharp, menacing, and just like _him_, thank goodness.

The pounding stopped instantly.

She unbolted the door and put her head out, doing her best to look as haughtily angry as she had seen him do many times before, eyes flashing. "_Istenem_, Ramsay, can a gentleman not entertain without his house being knocked down around him?"

Beth couldn't help pausing in her efforts to move Adelaide, a chill running down her spine at how true to the Baron Kitty sounded.

Ramsay took an involuntary step back. "B-but, sir! Forgive us, but those screams sounded like they came from _you_!"

Kitty snorted. "No doubt! Ramsay, you have many excellent qualities, but I fear a discerning ear is not one of them." It felt so good to safely insult the man—he had never liked her, and she had returned the favour. "And as you may see for yourself, I am perfectly well. A pity the same cannot be said for Dr. Barton." She managed a faint, cruel smile, no matter how much it made her stomach turn, knowing full well that Eduárd would not have spared 'Dr. Hill Barton' had he been real. "I shall ring for you when our business is concluded, but at present, I need nothing. You may go."

She closed the door, bolted it again, and slumped against it in relief. When she heard footsteps in the hall moving away, she let her shape return to normal.

Beth shuddered, but finally pulled Adelaide into the inner study. "Adelaide…?" she said softly, heart aching at the look of profound loss in the older girl. "Honey… I'm so sorry."

Too shattered to resist, Adelaide let Beth guide her in, staring dazedly around at the porcelain cabinets – she had never been in this room before. A nearby statuette caught her eye, and she drifted towards the case.

"Adelaide?"

It was an exquisite little green and gold dragon, a piece she knew well; Eduárd had shown her this piece personally on the ship... She could even remember the story he'd told her, word for word... "Legend tells," she murmured, "of a young man, Zhou Chu, who was violent and headstrong. The local villagers condemned him as a demon, just like the evil dragon in the river and the white-headed tiger in the mountains. Someone suggested that they should get rid of him by encouraging him to kill the other two scourges. Zhou took the challenge and jumped into the river, fighting against the dragon, swimming for miles down the river for several days. The villagers thought he was dead, and started to celebrate.

"When he had successfully slaughtered the dragon and returned, he overheard what the people really thought of him, and in his shame, decided to mend his ways. He was worried that it was too late, but Lu Yun, a famous intellectual, told him, 'Ancient masters believed that if one learns about truth and righteousness, one would rest in peace even if one dies in the evening. Once you are determined to be good, honor will come naturally to your name.' And things turned out just as Lu said it would be..." _"In marrying you, my darling, all my past sins shall be absolved..."_ Adelaide's face crumpled, covering her mouth as a sob slipped out. _Oh, Edu__á__rd!_

Beth's chest hurt sharply. "Oh, honey…" She moved forward and slowly, carefully wound her arms around Adelaide, allowing her the option of pulling away if she wanted to. "I'm so sorry." Those words felt so inadequate...

Adelaide flinched, tense and trembling inside the embrace, tears spilling over. "What... _is_ he?!" she whispered. Eduard's face... and the thing haunting her most just now was his _eyes_, the unholy _glee_ in them as he'd towered over Kitty...

Beth hesitated, chest clenching, afraid that, even now, Adelaide might reject the truth, because the truth _was_ absolutely _crazy_… "Do you… do you know what vampires are?"

Adelaide stared, then finally managed a weak nod, unable to believe what she'd just heard, but equally unable to deny what she had just _seen_.

Beth exhaled softly. "Well... that's what he is. His... his injuries... Kitty has a water pistol—it's filled with holy water. If you touched it, it wouldn't hurt you a bit."

Adelaide shuddered at the memory. "He was... going to _kill her_..." _"__Not just women, either, but men, as well... Even children." _Oh _God_...

Beth bit her lip—it had been so close! She still wished they could have come up with a better plan. "Yeah… he was…"

Adelaide's gaze was drawn back to the scratches on Beth's cheek, the realisation hitting her hard that every word Beth had told her about the attack on her was true... and how much _more_ had Beth left out?!

Beth looked up at the other girl, at the look on her face, and hugged her properly. "Oh, Adelaide," she whispered, "I'm so sorry. I wish you didn't have to go through this…"

From the doorway came a quiet voice: "_Moi aussi_." Kitty.

Adelaide stiffened, choking on the next sob that was welling up, unconsciously drawing backwards. Meeting Kitty when she'd thought she was human was one thing, but _this_... At least Eduárd hadn't been changing his shape like clay every few seconds!

"Adelaide, it's okay," Beth soothed. "Kitty's not human either, but she's not gonna hurt you." She looked up at Kitty, her heart sinking—she did _not_ want to do this next part. "Are we checking out the library, then?"

Kitty nodded, approaching the other two slowly so as not to spook Adelaide further. "And yes, there is much more to the story of Eduárd and I, _cherie_... but it must do for now to say that I am no kin of his. There is something you must see." She went to the door cabinet and swung it back, revealing the hidden room, lit and largely empty.

Beth shivered, squeezed Adelaide's shoulders gently, then turned, squared her own shoulders, and headed into the room.

Adelaide wavered, torn between going back out to the man she loved, whatever he had done, and the lure of this new secret, however unpleasant it promised to be... But in the end, curiosity won out, bolstered by a sudden determination not to seem a coward beside the other women, and she too entered the room.

Kitty gave Adelaide a sympathetic smile—she had no more desire to be here than the other two.

The walls and the shelves of the room were bare, but several crates sat in the middle of the floor, still open, a layer of straw concealing their contents. Beth gingerly cleared the straw from the nearest crate, uncovering a mosaic of carefully-packed leather-bound books, all with the Baron's crest on the cover in gold.

_I don't want to touch them. ...you came all this way to touch them!_ Swallowing hard, she reached for the book that looked the least worn, hung back again, then grabbed it. She opened it gingerly and began to flip through the pages, noting the dates of all the entries she saw, within the past two years… She caught a glimpse of a small photo of Kitty early in the book, found Adelaide's entry halfway through and turned back towards the other girl…

And froze when her flipping brought her to an entry she hadn't expected to see: a copy of the picture taken at Whitehall, cut to show only Sally and Kathy.

_Sally Watson. Wife of Dr. John H. Watson, mother of Katherine Watson_. And under Kathy's name, a single word: _leverage_.

Chest clenching, Beth started to swear softly, voice quickly growing louder as she grew angrier, vision blurring, almost hurling the book to the floor. "That _son of a __**bitch**_, _how __**dare**__ he?!_"

Kitty frowned, hurrying over. "What is it?" She'd never seen the young woman like this, pale and shaking and a faint gleam of murder in her eyes.

Beth wordlessly handed Kitty the journal, still open to Sally's entry.

Kitty's eyes widened in her own fury at the sight of the photo, needing no translation to know Eduárd's intent. She turned to Adelaide, surprised at the calm of her own voice. "You wished, _mon amie_, to learn the truth of Eduárd's heart?" She presented the journal to the young woman, as if the photograph clearly threatening mother and child was not an abomination, then turned one more page: Beth's own entry, where the other half of the photograph was pasted.

"_This photograph was put in Sherlock's pocket..."_ Adelaide moaned wordlessly, heart shattering in her chest. Her legs finally gave out, forcing Kitty to drop the book and catch her before she could fall, the two women lowering her to sit on the floor. One of the photographs in the book must not have been pasted in securely, the fall shaking it loose so that it now stuck out of the pages.

Adelaide couldn't stop herself reaching for the picture, pulling it free to reveal a girl in a boarding school uniform, who couldn't have been older than sixteen... "_No!_ No, God, _no_, not Millie!" She could barely see the picture for her tears, bent almost in half in her white-knuckled grasp. "How... how _could_ he...?!"

Beth gently pried the photo away, only to go completely white when she saw how young the girl in the picture was, inevitably reminded of Chloe. "Adelaide?" she pushed out past a tight throat. "Who... who was this girl?"

Adelaide had snatched up the book with trembling hands, flipping through madly to find the right page. "Millie Barraclough..." she choked out. "Mont-Choisi... a year above me... _They said it must have been wolves!_"

Beth shuddered at the image her mind conjured up against her will, stomach knotted, unsure anymore of whether she was horrified or furious. She looked up at Kitty, silently begging her for help: now that they'd opened this can of worms, what could they do?

Kitty could only look back helplessly—she'd never been in this situation before!

Adelaide stopped flipping and stared in frustrated wrath at the handwritten entry below a patch of dry paste – it was in Hungarian like all the rest, but the passage was tellingly short... _"...read it to me..._"

Kitty saw Beth blanch, and realised in a flash that Beth had lost someone as young as Adelaide's schoolmate. The look in her eyes… Kitty shook her head gently but firmly. "_Non_. Adelaide, _cherie_, you cannot ask that of Beth, it is not fair. You already know what happened to Millie…" She took the book, closed it, and took a page from _Beth's_ book, enfolding Adelaide in her arms. "Do not torture yourself, _je vous en prie_." Her voice grew hoarse, her own tears falling, heart aching for Adelaide even as she remembered only too sharply her own pain… "I have been you, _ma soeur_... where you are now... You do not think you will feel anything again for him but hate... but in time... there may be pity, too…"

Adelaide clung to Kitty, sobbing, Kitty gently rubbing her back until the young woman had calmed a little. "Attend to me, _cherie_," she murmured. "We cannot linger here, it is still not safe." Her performance had bought them a few more minutes, but eventually someone would return, and she hadn't any strength left for another change.

Beth had meanwhile begun flipping through another journal. "Just a mo', Kitty. I'm looking for… okay, yeah." Her voice was much calmer than she felt as she stared at the inscription: _Baroness Therese Mészáros _née_ Hillebrandt. Wife. Deceased_. "Shit." The woman in the photo was fair-haired and lovely and she was smiling as if her life held no sadness…

"The Baroness?" Kitty asked quietly, helping Adelaide back to her feet. _Bon Dieu_, if she had known back then what she knew now...

"Yeah," Beth said softly. "I wonder if they could reopen the case with this: his own account in his own writing." Tears pricked her eyes as she looked back down at the photo—had Therese ever known what her husband truly was? Had she known his true character anyway and been unable to escape? _Did death feel like a relief_…

"Let's hope so." Kitty paused, looking thoughtfully at the crates – wooden crates, filled with paper and straw... "I suppose that's the only book we need?"

Beth frowned. "I guess so. Why?"

Kitty grinned wickedly, holding up the newest journal. "Did you bring the lighter?"

Beth's eyebrows shot up. "Yes…" She hesitated—it would be satisfying, for sure, but would it be smart…? "I... would rather ask Sherlock first." She paused, staring at the journal in Kitty's hand. "And... I'd like to have that one." She nodded at it. "Please."

Kitty nodded, not even tempted to ask what Beth was planning do with it. Then she noticed Adelaide in the background, wiping her face, expression stony, but her eyes fixed on the photograph in Beth's hands. "Adelaide... would you like to have Millie's picture?"

Adelaide nodded jerkily. It would just be for a little while... until she felt strong enough to write to Millie's family and send it back to them.

Beth returned the photo to her, heart breaking all over again. "Okay, I'll be right back…" She started to head back to the outer study, Adelaide following. She tried not to look at the figure on the floor, red and raw and as horrible on the outside now as he was on the inside. "Sherlock?" Her husband's own injuries somehow only made him more beautiful in her eyes, like light spilling out, every bruise suffered for the sake of someone he'd been trying to save… "Kitty has a suggestion." She waited until she was close to him, murmuring, "She wants to burn the books. I already have the one that… that he recorded the Baroness in here."

Mészáros's face contorted in rage as Beth handed the book to Holmes, but before he could say a word, Adelaide was standing in front of him, eyes blazing, face scarlet, and dealt him a ringing slap. "_Monster_!" she hissed, brandishing the photo. "What did you to do to Millie, you... you evil, _loathsome_...!" She couldn't even think of a horrible enough word to describe him!

Mészáros's eyes flashed in pain and anger… and yet he could not help admiring this newly-discovered fire in his fiancée; he would not have thought she'd had it in her. "I'm sorry I did not have the opportunity to expand your vocabulary, _kincsem_," he rasped. And Adelaide had inadvertently blocked Holmes's line of fire with the water pistol... Concentrating hard, he finally started to dissolve.

"No!" Beth cried, but the Baron was already mostly scarlet mist.

"Damn it!" Watson exclaimed in alarm as Adelaide clutched futilely at the cloud. "Holmes, the pistol!"

Adelaide froze as the mist enveloped her for a moment, and she felt the soft brush of Eduárd's lips on her cheek, his voice murmuring, "Goodbye, my love..." The girl shivered, drawing a trembling breath as the mist swiftly flowed away towards the locked French doors, and swiped away an angry tear. "I never was, you lying bastard..."

With only enough time and water for one shot, Holmes stepped forward and aimed the water pistol carefully, squeezing the tiny trigger. There was a sizzling sound like water on a hot skillet, drawing an involuntary hiss of sympathy from Beth and a flinch from Adelaide. The mist turned a darker red and fell to the ground, but still managed to seep out under the doors and disappear.

"Damn!" Holmes scowled, echoed by a curse from Kitty. The detective wasn't sufficiently tempted to go after their prey this time – pursuing even a wounded vampire in the dark would be suicidal!

Watson rose slowly to his feet, grimacing. 'Well... on one hand, we don't have to explain to Lestrade now why we've got an injured Baron in custody..." And on the other hand, they now had a monster on the loose – not that they hadn't had that before, but now the Baron had nothing left to lose but his freedom!

"No," Holmes answered grimly, then sighed. "But we _do_ have a library full of sensitive documents, not to mention a houseful of servants who now have no reason not to attack on sight! Do you think they'd leave if they knew there was a fire?"

Kitty leaned against the doorway of the inner study, folding her arms. "They might, _oui_, but Ramsay will not—he will check to ensure Eduárd's safety."

Beth frowned, not really liking this idea. "So, if we burn, we're gonna have to do it quick and get out."

"Very well. Watson, wait by the door – you'll need to unbolt it once the alarm is raised." Holmes spotted the Ming saucer on the desk and scooped it up, hastily repackaging it. What he wouldn't give for some bubble wrap, because Mycroft would have his hide if it broke while they were escaping! "Kitty, be sure to close the inner doors after you, keep the spread as slow as possible." Gently, "Miss Pemberton, if you'll come with us?" Holmes unlocked the French doors again, and he and Beth cautiously escorted Adelaide out into the garden and a little way from the house.

Half a minute later, there was a bellow of "FIRE!" from Watson, and then he and Kitty were racing out of the study and across the lawn after the other three. Beth shivered and pulled her coat tighter around her as smoke began to seep out of the study.

"I think we'd best keep moving," Watson panted, while behind him there came a distant crash as the study door was flung open.

"Agreed," Holmes said wryly. It would be awkward enough explaining tonight's activities to Lestrade as it was, without being caught red-handed. Oh God, and Beth's phone was probably still recording away in Kitty's pocket! At least they didn't need that piece of evidence anymore. Poor Miss Pemberton... What Holmes wouldn't give for Adelaide's memory of the monster she had loved to be as easily erased.


	18. Nothing's Fair In War

**==Chapter 18=**

**Nothing's Fair in War**

_All women speak two languages:  
__the language of men  
__and the language of silent suffering.  
__Some women speak a third,  
__the language of queens.  
_– Mohja Kahf, The Marvelous Women

The group scrambled back over the wall to where Will was waiting with the borrowed four-wheeler, Beth taking back her phone from Kitty to call home and reassure Sally all was well. They delivered Adelaide back to her near-frantic father, the young woman pale but troublingly calm after her experience (delayed shock, according to Watson), then headed for Baker Street. Kathy was upstairs, finally asleep, Sally having had a hard time getting her there; the baby had of course sensed that _something _was up. Mrs. Hudson quickly fixed hot chocolate for them all in the kitchen, and they gathered there to drink and bring the two women up to speed on everything that had happened.

"Wow..." Sally said softly, wide-eyed. "So the wedding really is off." Thank God...

Holmes nodded in grim satisfaction. "The notice will published in due course, I expect –" Sadly, "once the poor girl has had time to process all that she witnessed tonight."

Beth nodded slowly. "I was thinking of visiting her again soon." The emotional fallout would be ugly when it hit, and she wanted Adelaide to not be alone for all of it. "Sally, would you come with me?"

"Why me?"

"Because I don't know how many real friends Adelaide has, but she needs as much support as she can get right now." Beth smiled sadly—she knew from bitter experience just how supportive a person Sally could be. "And you are _the_ most _calming_ person I know."

"Uh-huh..." Sally blushed. "You do realise this'll be the first time we've ever met? How the heck am _I_ supposed to comfort her?"

"Take the little 'un with yew," suggested Will.

Beth nodded. "Actually, yeah." She paused, thoughts unwillingly drawn to the sight of Sally and Kathy in that stupid book together, her precious goddaughter considered _leverage_… "You know, I showed her that photo of the three of us?" At least the photo worked against Mészáros, if only a little. "I think she was very taken with Kathy."

Watson decided to weigh in, rubbing his wife's shoulders comfortingly. "I do think the three of you visiting Adelaide might do her some good, but you don't have to if you don't want to, love." He leaned over and kissed her hair, grateful beyond words for all of them to be back home in one piece.

"All right," Sally sighed, smiling faintly at his kiss. "I guess it couldn't hurt. So... what now? Give Mycroft those journals in the morning?" Hopefully not too early... Did Sherlock feel as drained after every case as they all looked right now?

"Just the one with the Baroness in it," Beth told her. "The other…" She sighed, and continued quietly: "I'd rather no one else saw the other one." Not Mycroft… no one else in this room… none of them could handle it. She felt Sherlock gently squeeze her hand in silent sympathy, and squeezed back tightly. She wasn't sure what she wanted from that book, what had made her ask Kitty for it, but she wasn't going to give it up until she figured it out.

* * *

"What do you mean, 'nothing you can do'?!" Holmes stared incredulously at Mycroft, fingers unconsciously tightening on the blanket around his shoulders. "You can't be serio–!" The last word caught in Holmes's throat, making him reach for the glass of water at his elbow again. A persistent tickle had been plaguing him all morning, which Watson and Mrs. Hudson had unsympathetically deemed a just penance for overdoing things the night before, despite all advice to the contrary.

For his part, Watson looked just as stunned and angry as the detective. "You're telling us, even with that handwritten confession there, Mészáros is just going to walk free?"

"A handwritten confession which anyone could have forged and that was taken from his house under less than legal circumstances—any good barrister would tear that case apart." Mycroft softened his voice, knowing only too well what his little brother must be feeling right now. "Sherlock, I understand your frustration, believe me... but if you will recall my telling you at the very beginning of this case, I merely asked you to obtain enough evidence to stop the wedding—nothing more."

Holmes's mouth fell open, face reddening – he had completely forgotten that.

"And you didn't think to mention," Watson glared, "that any additional evidence would be worthless?"

"As you say, Doctor: additional," Mycroft said firmly. He had already regretted putting his brother on this case, and now he regretted it even more. He should have known that Sherlock would go the extra mile. "I understand that this case has caused you all much grief, and for that, I apologise—that was never my intention! But you must understand that my hands are tied in this affair. If the Baron were British, you could have taken him to court with my blessing. Instead, he comes from a foreign power whom we are striving not to upset! Imagine how embarrassing it would be to Austria-Hungary to have one of their own noblemen outed as a murderer in a foreign land, and who has gotten away with his crimes for as long as he has!"

Beth's chest clenched, not merely at this fresh revelation but also at the reminder that the First World War was less than twenty years away. _And it starts with Austria_… "Mycroft," she started in a low tone, trying not to give way to the panic bubbling inside, "nobody wants a war—but for god's sake, it's not just that we want justice but that we want to ensure that he will not continue to go on as he has! There were children in those journals, Mycroft! _Children!_ Adelaide actually recognised one of the girls, a classmate who'd disappeared when she was _sixteen_. He _is _going to heal, most likely, eventually, and when he does, once again, no female is going to be safe from him, whether she's even younger than... younger than... Damn it, even _Kathy_ wasn't safe from him, if only as planned leverage against Sally!"

Sally shivered and nodded, lips tight. The Baron could count himself lucky that he'd never tried to enter 221B... "If the case can't _officially_ go to trial... what about _un_officially? You said the... Evidenzbureau? already knows Mészáros is a vampire. Can't _they_ prove to the emperor that he murdered the Baroness, on the quiet, and take the credit? I'm thinking most of us could live with that."

Mycroft sighed; he himself would like nothing better. "I'm sure they would be happy enough to do so, if convinced, if not for one important factor: Mészáros is a member of the nobility and, as such, is highly visible in the public eye. They could not possibly keep such a scandal hushed up."

"And we cannot have _that_, now, can we?" Kitty answered bitingly, speaking for the first time. "We can allow murderous attacks and seductions of innocent females, but God forbid we humiliate any _important_ people!"

"If, by 'important,'" Mycroft said sternly, "you mean people who could order the deaths of millions in a fit of pique, then yes. I do not wish for the suffering of his victims to go unpunished, nor do I wish for him to cause yet more victims pain in the future—but I cannot countenance a justice that would inflict suffering upon countless others! To see your tormentor receive his due, _mademoiselle_, would you plunge Europe into an all-encompassing war?"

Kitty glared viciously, effectively silenced, while Holmes sighed, giving his brother a look of deep reproach. "You should have told us, Mycroft."

Mycroft echoed Sherlock's sigh. "I told you to stop the wedding. I stressed to you the fact that all that was required was that the engagement be ended." Not once had he said that he wanted the Baron brought to court! The wretched vampire had escaped justice for a murder _nearly_ _everyone knew he'd committed_; the man's own written confession was hardly likely to make any difference at that point. And with the growing tension in Serbia… Mycroft had not wanted to risk an upset in Vienna. Not now. The world was too fragile… and seeing the look in his sister's eyes, he knew she understood better than anyone else in the room just _how_ fragile… And it frightened him.

"_Mon Dieu_..." Kitty said softly. "Do the words 'I am sorry' have no place at all in your repertoire, _monsieur_? Even with no one 'important' left in the room?" She shook her head in disgust, rising. "_Excusez-moi_." If she stayed in this room a minute longer, she might be tempted to forget she had fed only last night!

Frustrated himself, Mycroft watched her go. "I apologise for ever involving any of you at all. Obviously an error on my part, and one I shall endeavour not to repeat in the future."

Sally rose after Kitty, wordlessly shooing Beth out of her chair and towards the sitting room door, pulling John with her. She'd seen _that_ look on a Holmes before... It was time to let the brothers have a moment to themselves.

Holmes's lips twitched, touched by Kitty's anger on his behalf, regarding his brother with faint amusement as the door closed behind the Watsons. "You seem to be operating under a grave misapprehension, brother mine." At Mycroft's questioning eyebrow: "That you or I have anything whatever to say about those blessed women sticking their noses into the affairs of the empire."

"Yes, I rather found that out yesterday," Mycroft said dryly, before his tone grew more serious, and softer. "Sherlock, I never intended for things to get as out-of-hand as they did." He never meant for his little brother—or his new sister!—to get hurt. Or for everyone to fall into the line of fire, even that dear baby...

"Mycroft..." Holmes took another sip of water, trying vainly to clear his throat, then touched the bandage on his head. "This wasn't your doing." His cuts and bruises would probably fade long before the nightmares did, but even so... If Mycroft hadn't asked for his help, he would still have offered it.

"Even so," the older brother said quietly, miserably.

Holmes nodded, clearly hearing the unspoken apology, then changed the subject abruptly, looking at the journal in Mycroft's hands with distaste. "What _will_ you do with that, then?"

"I shall keep it among my files. It would be unwise to destroy this last piece of evidence." He hadn't given up hope that the book could _never_ be used; there was value in patience.

"Yes... I don't suppose you've any definite idea where the Baron is now?"

"I cannot say with any certainty, no." Which was the absolute truth, if not quite the whole of it—but at this point, Mycroft would be damned if he'd aid his brother in getting into further deadly danger.

"A pity." He hadn't really been expecting a straight answer. "Do let me know if circumstances change, won't you?"

Mycroft nodded reluctantly and rose from the settee, shaking his head at his brother not to get up in turn – Sherlock still looked distressingly overwrought. "Sherlock…"

Holmes sighed inwardly, and held out his hand with a wry smile. "Happy New Year, Mycroft." This case had indeed been as absorbing as he'd prophesied, but he could perhaps be content with a lighter caseload for the next few months.

As Mycroft took Sherlock's hand, he could only hope that his gaze could convey everything he couldn't find the words to say. "Happy New Year, _mon petit frère_."

* * *

"Good morning, gentlemen, sorry to keep you waiting." Geoffrey Lestrade closed the sitting room door after himself. A better actor than Mr. Holmes had ever given him credit for, he didn't change his tone at all as he continued, "Seen the papers this morning?" He passed over the morning edition of the _Daily Telegraph_, with the headline "FOREIGN NOBLEMAN'S HOUSE BURNT" blazoned across the top.

"Indeed we have," Holmes replied just as innocently, sharing a significant look with Watson. "Such a shocking thing to happen to a nobleman's residence."

"Mm." Lestrade accepted a cup of tea with a nod of thanks, not much feeling like verbally sparring with Sherlock Holmes today. Just now, the policeman could cheerfully shake both him and Watson hard, no matter how evil the Baron had turned out to be—arson was hardly the first of the crimes he _knew_ the pair were responsible for, and he didn't want to know the rest! Thank God he'd never had any evidence against them… But given how pale and battered poor Holmes still looked, huddled under a thick blanket in his fireside chair, a strong smell of throat pastilles hanging about him, who else on the Force would believe the detective fit enough for such late-night antics? "I do hope that calling my men off last night wasn't premature." It had seemed a safe thing to do at the time, although they couldn't have said with certainty that the Baron had employed _only_ one gang of roughs.

Holmes shook his head, smiling. "Which reminds me, Lestrade, I don't believe we ever properly thanked you and your colleagues for going to all that trouble. We stand very much in your debt." It wasn't the constables' fault that Beth had been attacked... They should have taken Lestrade into confidence from the very beginning!

Lestrade raised an eyebrow—blessed foolish boys, the pair of them; as if it wasn't the police's duty to protect them as much as they did any other civilians. "We were just doing our duty," he said mildly, and took a sip of his tea.

Watson hid a grin, Lestrade could dissemble with the best of them. "Well, we appreciate it all the same – especially since, as you knew, there was a great deal more to the case than we were able to divulge at the time."

Lestrade managed to keep his tone this side of admonishing. "Watson, do you have any idea how often we have to act in a case without knowing all the facts, or even finding out the ending? It happens more bloody often than you might think. That being said, I would appreciate having a few gaps filled for this particular case." He arched both eyebrows invitingly.

"And we should be delighted to oblige," Holmes answered solemnly, "on condition, Lestrade, that what we have to tell you goes no further than this room."

Watson nodded. "Holmes and I have discussed this at length, and we couldn't think of anyone at the Yard whom we would trust more with such sensitive information. Though... we're afraid some of it is going to be extremely difficult to believe." Make that most of it, actually…

Lestrade massaged his forehead—as if being trusted to _not_ arrest them on dozens of charges wasn't bad enough! "I was afraid of that. Very well, then." He spread his hands invitingly, bracing himself.

Holmes took a deep breath, still not entirely certain that this idea of Watson's was a good one. "Well, to begin with, I'm sure you recollect the mysterious death on New Year's Eve, the bloodless corpse? We have good reason to think that that was Baron Mészáros's handiwork."

"Good god," Lestrade said quietly, not likely to forget _that_ sight any time soon. The most inexplicable murder he'd ever come across, and that was truly saying something! "But... how the bloody hell did he do it?"

"He _drank_ it."

"Mészáros is a vampire," Watson hastened to interject, "hence the two puncture wounds in the victim's neck. You needn't take our word for it, Lestrade," he added as the Inspector sat speechless. "Mycroft was aware of the fact long before we were."

Lestrade sighed and dragged his hands down his face. "And it's too early for brandy," he muttered. The sanity of the two younger men he had no difficulty questioning—yes, even Watson, sometimes—but Mycroft Holmes was a different matter. Mycroft Holmes's acceptance of such a thing made it… frighteningly real. It certainly did explain the bloodless corpse completely, when the pathologist had been unable give them any sort of scientific explanation for it. He lowered his hands, this new information clicking into place. "The other night, the drugged constables and…" Two men who should have had _some_ warning of an assailant, and a girl who should not have been outside in the middle of the night. "Mrs. Holmes."

Mr. Holmes nodded, eyes steely.

Lestrade couldn't help a little shiver at that look. He'd already witnessed more than once Sherlock Holmes's protectiveness of his dearest friend—Lestrade did _not_ want to think about how far the man might go for the sake of his _wife_. Tearing his mind from that dark train of thought, he sighed again. "All right, the supernatural does go a long way towards explaining those happenings—" as much as he couldn't believe he was actually _saying_ that!— "and might it possibly have anything to do with how you showed up in Camden House without any of us spotting you?"

"Something of the sort," Watson answered apologetically as Holmes reddened. "Remind us to explain about that another time."

"We are, however, happy to tell you that Miss Pemberton has broken off her engagement to the Baron," Holmes added. "Her eyes have at last been opened to his true character, she no longer has any desire to wed him." And thank God for it. Mészáros's injuries, terrible as they were, could never have brought Adelaide back to earth on their own; she would only have loved him all the more as a disfigured martyr.

"Thank God for that!" Lestrade said fervently. There was something very painful about someone, often a woman, remaining in a relationship with a despicable or even deadly person because _she_ believed he was better than he was. "The Baron's crimes were human enough. Oh! Speaking of weddings, Mr. Holmes…" He reached into his pocket. "You might have been missing this...?"

Holmes's eyes lit up, accepting his wedding ring back gratefully. "Thank you! I had intended to inquire." In a faintly hopeful tone: "I suppose Stockdale had to be persuaded to part with it?"

Lestrade arched an eyebrow, but couldn't blame his colleague. "Well, he didn't particularly enjoy it, you might say." Between jail, giving up the ring, and giving up whatever Mrs. Holmes had taken from him, Barney Stockdale had been very sullen.

Watson snorted. "The first of many disappointments, I hope!"

Lestrade nodded. "Oh, don't you worry about that, Doctor. Separated from their precious leader and his boss, his boys have been squealing. I think we have enough to finally put Barney Stockdale away for a very long time."

"Good." A pity Watson couldn't have had a few minutes alone with Stockdale before his arrest, but one couldn't have everything.

"Well, that's something," Holmes muttered, sliding the signet ring back on.

And now they came to it at last. Dammit—Geoffrey Lestrade had been on the London Metropolitan Police for over thirty years, and time had not yet found a way to blunt the sting of someone escaping justice who so richly deserved it. "I take it the bird has not only flown but completely disappeared."

Holmes nodded gravely. "I'm afraid so. We believe he had made plans to cross the Channel tonight with his most prized possessions, but... circumstances being what they were last night, he was no doubt forced to improvise."

Lestrade nodded in resignation. "No doubt. But, on the off chance that we happen to hear of him, we'll let you know."

"Thank you, Inspector," Watson sighed. "That would be appreciated." Lestrade obviously knew as well as his colleagues did that the Baron was far beyond any of their reach.

* * *

_Brrrinnnnggg!_

"It's Isadora!" Sally called from upstairs.

Flanked by Sherlock and John, Beth hurried to the door. "_Buenas noches, Señora. Por favor pasa_." **1** Oh good, the butterflies in her stomach weren't enough to make her trip on her tongue.

Isadora returned the girl's bow as she stepped inside, charmed by the effort Beth was making. "_Buenas noches, Señora, gracias._"

Beth gestured at her husband and her something-great-grandfather as Sally came down. "_Señora_, I'd like you to meet my husband, Sherlock Holmes, and his partner, Dr. John Watson. Gentlemen, _Señora_ Isadora Klein."

Isadora smiled brightly to meet two of the most famous adventurers of the era—and to have made them both stare—and extended her hand. "A pleasure, gentlemen."

Watson recovered himself before Holmes did. Isadora Klein was quite possibly the most stunning woman he had ever seen, and her sheer presence could knock a man over! He saw in her dark eyes that she knew full well the power she wielded, and he was grateful that she seemed content not to use that power against his family. He took her hand and bowed over it. "The pleasure is ours, _Señora_."

Isadora's responding smile was dazzling, charmed by the gallant young doctor, so handsome and earnest…

Sally smothered an appreciative chuckle as she reached John's side, although she couldn't quite hide a possessive look: _Don't even think it, he's mine..._

Holmes came forward next, faintly pink at being caught staring, and performed his own bow. "An honour to meet you, _Señora_."

"Ah, the honour is all mine, _Señor_—I have been wishing to meet you gentlemen for quite some time now." And it was rather to Isadora's regret now that she had never made the attempt _before_ both men were married! And at a time when the Great Detective did not look so... what was the phrase? 'Done-in'? The poor dear, he was still lovely in spite of it...

Beth was enjoying this moment way too much, but waited for Isadora and Sally to exchange greetings. "Please come upstairs, _Señora_. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes."

Kitty stood waiting in the sitting room with Will, both coming forward as Isadora entered. "_Chère madame_, _bienvenue_." The plasmavore blushed as Isadora arched an eloquent eyebrow at the pair's joined hands. "A-allow me to introduce Will Robertson, chief of the Baker Street Irregulars."

"A pleasure to meet you, _Señor_."

Will grinned sheepishly, completely forgetting to bow as he held out his hand. " 'Ow d'yer do, ma'am?"

Three genuine gentlemen in the span of a minute; this household was very blessed. "Very well, _Señor, _thank you." Isadora took Kitty's free hand in her own for a moment and squeezed lightly.

She then stepped back to look around the room that, so young, was already a legend. "Ah, to see at last such a famous room…"

Beth couldn't help grinning—it was very validating to realise that a centuries-old vampire from a non-English speaking country could also be a fangirl.

"Too kind, madam," Holmes smiled – for once, Mrs. Hudson had had enough warning to tidy up before a guest arrived! "Pray be seated."

Isadora settled on the sofa, waiting for everyone else to be seated before she addressed the issue they were all dancing around. "This is an honour I had not looked for, _Señor_ Holmes: to be invited to your home after everything that has happened."

"Actually, _Señora_," Beth said quietly, "it's _because_ of everything that has happened that we thought you might appreciate hearing it all in person."

"That is very kind of you_, gracias_." Perhaps _la niña_ did not know how rare such a courtesy was.

**1** Good evening, madam. Please come in.

* * *

"Vernon Lodge wasn't entirely destroyed in the fire, but no one can live there any more," Holmes concluded. "Sadly, that also means the staff will have been left positionless and without characters. Perhaps, _Señora_, given your... association with Mészáros, you might be able to assist in this matter?"

Isadora arched an eyebrow—how sweet, and how naive. "Your assumption, then, being that Eduardo had all his servants under his thrall?"

Beth frowned. "Didn't you tell us that, the last time you were here?"

"I was not lying. But the truth is that... there are different sorts of thralldom. And Eduardo's butler Ramsay is one of his spawn."

If Isadora had dropped a bomb on the group, she couldn't have stunned them more thoroughly.

"Uh-huh," Sally said brightly, clutching Kathy so tightly that the baby started to protest. "And you didn't mention this earlier because...?"

"Because he would have been dangerous to you either way," Isadora said calmly— "I did warn you that the staff was deadly. Besides, Ramsay is not very strong. Whenever Eduardo sets himself up in a new place, he will often make one manservant his spawn for... various reasons... but he will never allow the man to be strong enough to challenge him."

"And Ramsay couldn't tell last night that it _was_ Mészáros in pain," Beth murmured, "or that he was speaking to Kitty and not his sire."

"Even weaker than I thought, then. But not all vampires possess a decent ability to communicate mind to mind, and Eduardo may have deliberately refrained from cultivating his bond with Ramsay."

"That would not surprise me," Kitty sighed. "Eduárd never could respect a servant as anything like an equal." Or anybody else, for that matter.

"No, he would not," Isadora said quietly. He never had treated her own beloved staff with any kindness, and they had never done him any wrong. So much of his behaviour, she had excused; so much of who he was, she had willingly overlooked. _No more_. "I will see what I can do."

* * *

If Isadora had been surprised to receive an invitation to dinner at 221B Baker Street, she was even more astonished to find herself dining upon decent English renditions of dishes from her homeland. The first course was _pisto manchego_, a vegetable stew _Señor_ Holmes would find similar to _ratatouille_, while the main course was _ajoarriero_, chunks of cod served with garlic, peppers, tomatoes, and other vegetables and spices. "_Señora_ Hudson is a cook _maravilloso_," Isadora decided. A Spanish chef could have done better, of course, but the landlady had done excellently with little time and presumably no prior experience!

Watson smiled—that sentiment needed no translation. "She certainly is."

"It is very difficult to find good food _española_ outside of Spain, and your landlady has quite risen to the occasion." Isadora looked at Beth. "Your idea, was it, _mi querida_?"

Beth stiffened, but forced the smile she'd otherwise have given easily and nodded. "I hoped you'd appreciate it."

Isadora smiled. "I do, indeed, _gracias_."

"This is quite a treat for the rest of us, too," Sally chimed in. "I'll admit, the closest I've ever come to Spanish cuisine till now was reheating a frozen _enchilada_!" _Um, hel-lo,_ _TV dinners aren't invented yet, remember?_

Isadora's smile turned sly. "So, then, from what point in the future do you _señoras_ come?"

Beth nearly choked on air as Sally went red. "Beg pardon?"

"I know a time traveller when I see one, _mi amiga_—once you have met one and accept the idea that one can travel through time to be a fact, it is simple enough to notice them. Often, they stand out just a bit from their surroundings, a hint of color in a black-and-white sketch.

"And when _was_ the last time you met a time traveller, _señora_?" Holmes asked innocently. "Might they have been travelling in a rather... singular conveyance?"

"Perhaps." Isadora smiled archly. "The box, however, was scarcely less singular than her operator. We had something of an... active... weekend together in Venice. He was quite charming."

Venice? Sally exchanged a wide-eyed look with Beth. "Oh, _please_ tell us you're not just going to leave the story there!"

Isadora's smile turned amused. "We encountered a different sort of vampire there. I am certain the Doctor would be delighted to tell you the story if you asked, and I am equally certain he could tell the tale better than I." At least, his version would be more entertaining, if not quite informative…

"Blimey," Will said softly.

Sally sighed, trying not to look too disappointed. "Oh! Ah, speaking of, er, vampires... Kitty, there's something Beth and I have been meaning to mention."

"_Quoi_?"

"Well, you know how you met Mr. Stoker in Paris last March? That was... how do we put this... I guess the Doctor would call it a Fixed Moment? Because the story Stoker's going to write – actually, he's probably writing it right now! It's going to change the world of literature _and_ entertainment in a _big_ way."

Isadora arched her eyebrows, intrigued. "Is that so?" Fictional accounts of vampires were nothing new, but one that changed literature and entertainment? That was something new and different, and possibly worth looking forward to.

"Uh, yeah." Feeling self-conscious and not understanding why, Beth averted her gaze and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "The book's called _Dracula_; it'll be published sometime next year. We probably shouldn't spoil too many details… Let's just say that we think Kitty was Bram Stoker's inspiration for a few of the characters." The three brides, at least, and, zed, possibly even the Count himself!

"And that being the case," Sally went on to Kitty, "it really doesn't seem fair for you not to receive any kind of compensation for your, ah, creative input – right, John?"

John chuckled, imagining just how well the Irishman would take _that_. "Well, Stoker might require some sweet-talking, particularly considering his last encounter with Kitty, but I do think he _could_ be persuaded to be reasonable." _After a heroic amount of effort, that is._

"Yes," his wife grinned, "in exchange for the privilege of _not_ being visited in an alley one dark and stormy night, perhaps..."

"A tempting proposal, _certainement_!" Kitty laughed, then sobered. "It was most kind of you to think of it, _mes amies_... but I am very far now from needing to negotiate royalties."

"'Ow's that, then?" asked Will. "Did yew 'ave a rich uncle wot died?"

"Not exactly... _Señora_ Klein has offered to become my _patron_. We have been talking things over... and we are in agreement that Eduárd is too dangerous for his fate to be decided by politics." Kitty shrugged lightly to conceal her nerves. "_Eh bien_, my training as a Torchwood agent might as well be useful for something!"

"Kitty..." Sally could hardly believe her ears. "Are you saying... you're going after him?!"

"We both are," Isadora said solemnly. "As Mam'zelle Winter says, Eduardo has become much too dangerous." She paused, and had to look away for a moment. "I made a mistake," she continued softly, "a very long time ago, and I have been running from it ever since. It is long past time I stopped running."

"But won't 'e know yew're coming fer 'im?" Will frowned.

"He will... sense my presence, _sí_." Blood calling out to blood… and to kill one's spawn was a solemn thing, Eduardo would not think her capable of it. Duplicity, certainly, but not that. Even vampires held some things sacred. "But he will not run from me—he never did before, and I do not believe he will start now."

"When..." Holmes cleared his throat as his voice caught. "When do you leave?"

Kitty bit her lip, unable to meet his gaze. "Tomorrow, the evening tide. I go with Isadora to the Savoy tonight."

* * *

As the others were saying their goodbyes to Kitty, Beth said hers to Isadora. "Thank you for coming. And for…" For her advice before, for her promise to take care of Mészáros… _for proving that half-way decent vampires exist after all, for reminding me of the other side of my heritage…_ "...everything. _Muchas gracias_."

Isadora's chest tightened as she met the eyes of this brave child who should not have been hurt as badly as she had been. The older woman raised her hand slowly—slowly enough that Beth could back away if she wanted to, and she did not—to touch the uninjured skin on the girl's injured cheek. "_Mi chica pobre_. I owe you many apologies. I had hoped…" **1 **She glanced over at Kitty, who had also been hurt badly, if in different ways, and then back at Beth. Two living, breathing reminders that she must not fail this time as she had failed so many times before. "I had hoped that your fire would prove his downfall—that it did not was no fault of your own."

Beth winced, then smiled weakly. "Well, you could say that my fire did its best." She pulled out her lighter to show Isadora—a late 21st-century model, much more efficient than a Victorian one, but still recognisable for what it was.

Isadora stared at the small, innocuous-looking object, then shook her head, unable to suppress a small smile. So her instincts had not been completely wrong… "Well played, _Isabela_."

Beth blushed. Her grandparents called her _Isabela_, no one else ever had before—and to hear it from Isadora somehow felt like a badge of honor.

Isadora smiled solemnly and rested her hand on the young woman's shoulder. "_Vaya con Dios, Isabela_. There is much darkness in this world, but you are one of the lights." **2**

"Mészáros said I'd be a good vampire," Beth murmured, dropping her gaze.

"_Sí_, and so you would be. But you make a better light." Isadora gently tilted Beth's chin upward. "See that it does not go out."

Beth nodded mutely.

**1** My poor girl.

**2** Go with God, Elizabeth.

* * *

Sally hugged Kitty tightly, blinking hard. "Write to us, won't you?" _Stay safe_...

"Of course." Kitty turned to Kathy in her father's arms, took her tiny hand and kissed it. "_Au revoir, chère petite_." The baby pouted, and Kitty giggled, tutting affectionately. "_Zut_! Patience, _petit chou_, you shall see me again."

As Kitty turned to Beth, Beth didn't hesitate to hug her, but she did it slowly and gently, holding the older woman close and trying to swallow the lump in her throat. "Gonna miss you," she murmured.

"_Moi aussi_..." Kitty said huskily, and tentatively put her arms around Beth; "_ma soeur_." **1 **The words slipped out before she could stop them, but once they had... somehow it felt... right.

Beth's breath caught, and her vision blurred. "Be _careful_," she whispered. "And come back… anytime… please." She somehow managed to make it not quite a plea. _Come back in one piece, too_. "You know you're always welcome…" She pulled back a bit and gave a watery laugh. "You know it's rough sometimes, Sally and me just having… each other, you know?" She gave an equally watery smile and she hated it. "It's been nice having another girl around."

Kitty nodded, eyes glistening, then murmured seriously, "But you have more family than this, _cherie_..." Beth went rigid, eyes wide, and Kitty smiled in sympathy, with just a touch of exasperation thrown in. "Just... don't wait too long, _oui_?"

Beth blushed and averted her gaze in shame. Here she was, avoiding her family, when Kitty had long ago seen her own murdered. She bit her lip and nodded. "Okay."

Kitty gave her one last squeeze, letting go reluctantly, then turned to the last person, holding out her hand. "Well, Monsieur Holmes... _nous disons 'au revoir', encore une fois_." **2**

"Indeed," Holmes murmured. If only for Beth's sake, he hoped they would have the chance to say it again some day. He took Kitty's hand and bowed over it. "_Bonne chance, chère mam'zelle._"

"_Vous aussi, monsieur_," she murmured back, cheeks pink. How she wished she could ask for just one kiss from this oh-so-unattainable man... but instead she smiled bravely, brightly. "If you should see Miss Pemberton, please tell her that I was sorry not to see her again?"

Holmes nodded, pretending not to notice the telltale trembling of Kitty's hand in his. "Of course. She will be sorry to have missed you, too, I am sure." Although he had to wonder if Adelaide actually would be!

Watching them, Isadora decided that the kindest thing to do was to break the moment. Stepping forward, she cleared her throat and touched Kitty's arm. "As am I, but we really should be leaving now. We have matters to arrange before we depart. Farewell, _señor_—" her smile grew sadder— "I was glad to have met you." If only it had not been under these circumstances.

"The honour was ours, _Señora_." Holmes released Kitty's hand and bowed to Isadora. "Safe journey to you both." _Do give the **dear** Baron our kind regards._

"_Gracias_." Isadora inclined her head in return. "_Bendiciones para usted y su familia_." **3** She took Kitty's arm in her own and gently steered her away toward the door.

"_Au revoir, mes amies_." Kitty gave them all a last nod of farewell, then pointed her chin resolutely towards the street and its lengthening shadows. There was time for one final hunt before sailing tomorrow...

Sally caught the look of hunger in the woman's eyes and shivered. _But it's none of your business, no one can help how they're made, she never asked for pity. And now she's got Isadora..._ "Bye, Kitty," she murmured, and put her arm around Beth as the pair walked out to the waiting carriage.

**1** My sister.

**2** We say 'goodbye', yet again.

**3** Blessings upon you and your family.


	19. Epilogue: Fragility

**==Epilogue==**

**Fragility**

_You were unsure which pain is worse: the shock of what happened or the ache for what never will._

– Simon Van Booy, Everything Beautiful Began After

Mészáros drained the last drop from the girl cradled in his arms with a long in-drawn breath of satisfaction. A pity he could not have turned the pretty thing, but it would have been rude to convert someone his host would have kept for his own purposes, had he not been housing a vampire!

His host looked on with thinly-disguised irritation – such a waste of a perfectly good cadaver – although with a certain amount of interest as well. "Sufficiently refreshed, I trust?"

The Baron set down the body, dabbing at his mouth with a handkerchief. "Indeed." He stood and bowed, relieved to find his movements considerably less stiff than earlier. "Thank you for the meal."

The man watching him inclined his head mock-graciously. "Consider yourself fortunate, that was my last fresh specimen." His guest would simply have had to suffer the hunger otherwise; the Baron knew far better than to take advantage of whatever limited hospitality he might find here.

Mészáros could hear the unspoken adjoinder in the man's even tone: _Whatever you have to tell me had _better_ be worth it. _The vampire retook his seat, folding his hands together. "And it is much appreciated, I assure you. Not quite like the fresh taste of a young time-traveller's blood, but it suffices."

His host arched an amused eyebrow, eyes gleaming with intrigue. "Glad to hear it. Do go on."

* * *

_Age: 18 years.  
Brown hair with shades of blonde, blue eyes, fair skin, some freckles.  
Beautiful.  
Height: 5-foot-11. Weight: About 140 pounds. Slender.  
American. Michigan. From the future. Descended from the infamous Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard.  
Married to Sherlock Holmes.  
To be conquered._

_Elizabeth Lestrade Holmes is fierce and strong, with all the temper expected of an American. I have met her and have sought to seduce her, but she fought my influence with a fire I have seldom encountered in so young a girl. Even when I had her under my spell, she was able to resist me enough to get away!_

_I have told her that she is half a vampire already, and it is true: her ferocity and her cunning make her an ideal candidate for conversion. She could be a queen if she so chose! To think that she is perfectly willing to waste her passion and energy and devotion on that pathetic excuse for a detective is beyond even my powers to understand! What does the foolish child see in him?!_

_Even so, there is a fragility to her. Moriarty attempted to use this against her, but he was careless and his carelessness directly brought about his own death—shot by the girl, no less! He was careless not only with her body, courtesy of his pet, but also with her mind. The pain of his forcing his way in must have been excruciating; it is half a wonder she was not left a gibbering mess from it._

_She is afraid. She is terrified. She lives in dread of the future: not always at the forefront of her mind, but never far away. She is afraid that she will never be able to protect her husband adequately; she is afraid that she will lose him someday. I intend to exploit this fear, and to greater effect than the 'Napoleon of Crime' could manage._

_She is a lovely creature, energetic and passionate, as I have already stated. Given time, she could become the equal of Isadora, and I look forward to assisting her on that path…._

Beth stopped. She didn't need to read the rest, although she felt remarkably calm considering what she had just read. She didn't feel upset… not even angry. She felt… detached…

She just felt tired. Finding Sally's entry had made her burn white-hot with rage, but reading her own… she felt bone-tired, weary right down to her soul.

She ripped out her entry, then Sally's, then Adelaide's, and on and on and on… until every page was in the fire, the cover soon following. She tended the fire with the poker until every page had burnt to ash, then closed the grate and hugged herself as the fire continued to eat at the leather binding.

It was done.

She'd hoped to feel something akin to triumph, or at least peace.

Instead, she only felt tired.

Until, surprising herself, she buried her face in her hands and wept.

* * *

_General Josiah Pemberton announces that the __engagement__ of his daughter Adelaide Josephine and Baron Eduárd Mészáros has been __ended__ by mutual consent._

* * *

**To Be Continued...**

**In Episode Two: 'Scars and Deep Waters'**

**Sky:** Sorry it's taken so long for us to get through this story—that's been all my fault, I'm afraid. Well, mine and my job's: working overtime consistently in a severely deadline-oriented job can take a LOT out of you (sometimes just stringing together coherent sentences in normal conversation is difficult!). But here we are, at the epilogue at last, and we're very grateful to those of you who've stuck with us this far. Nearly 100K! That's a new record! (Only "Together" and "Study" came close at 79K and would have beaten this ep if we'd kept them together like they were originally written.)

We hope that you've enjoyed our big vampire adventure—I know I did! As much as it's hurt in places (and the following epilogue is no exception), it's been a lot of fun to mess around with vampire tropes, especially in the context of pre-existing Sherlockian characters.

At the end of this epilogue, you might be wondering where this new season is going. Fear not, we _do_ have a general direction we're aiming for! And also, the Doctor _will_ show his face again, sooner or later. But as anybody who's ever written for the Whoniverse spinoffs can tell you, the universe is a whole lot bigger for people who've run with the Doctor, whether they're still running with him or not, and there's a lot of baggage, sometimes, that they have to deal with on their own. And that, I think, is totally worth exploring.

_Allons-y!_


End file.
